


The Borders of My Realm

by boombangbing



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Arranged Marriage, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:44:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4950535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boombangbing/pseuds/boombangbing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1893, vagrant Bruce Banner and society lady Jane Foster are brought together in the home of the eccentric automobile inventor Anthony Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Borders of My Realm

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this many moons ago for a trope meme on Tumblr, prompted by [blackestglass](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blackglass/works).

Stark Manor sits on Fifth Avenue, a stunning display of wealth run rampant; turrets, balconies, and bay windows abound. There is even a pair of gargoyles crouched down on the roof, watching the world suspiciously. It is faintly repellent to Bruce's eyes.

He steps out of the first hansom cab he's ever ridden in, and turns to the driver. “How much?”

“Thirty cents, sir,” the man says, and Bruce is momentarily taken aback. To be called 'sir'...

“Sir?” the man repeats.

Bruce shakes himself and peels off a one dollar bill from the comically huge wad of bills he has in his coat pocket. He hands it over.

“Um,” he murmurs. “Keep the... change.”

They feel strange in his mouth, words he's never once said before. The driver tips his hat, snaps his horse's reins, and is presently off down the street, leaving Bruce alone outside this gaudy nightmare of a home.

He turns around to face it and bites his lip.

-

Bruce met Anthony Stark eight weeks previously, at a restaurant in Chicago. Referring to it as a 'restaurant' may have been a kindness, because it was little more than a rat-infested hole with crates of liquor for pathetic souls.

And that fateful night, two of the most pathetic souls in the place were Bruce Banner and Anthony Stark. Anthony was three sheets to the wind and talking to anyone who came close, while Bruce was sober as a judge, nursing an untouched glass of whiskey and scanning the floor for dropped coins. A vile endeavour, really, but a good night could see him with enough money to get through a week, and it wasn't, technically, thievery.

Anthony had a pocket stuffed with cash threatening to spill, and Bruce watched him for ten minutes, wondering how far his morality stretched. Clearly this man he was looking at had a comfortable life, wouldn't miss the money or perhaps even realise it was gone. Yet he was so unaware of the dangers around him, it seemed almost too pathetic to take from him.

After another minute's thought, Bruce got up and went over to sit down beside the man.

“Good evening, fellow traveller!” Anthony said, and grinned manically at Bruce.

Bruce nodded back. “Good evening.”

“I am going to let you in on a secret, my friend,” Anthony said, loudly and with great care. “This alcohol is _vile_.”

“Agreed,” Bruce said, and clinked his glass against Anthony's. “So why are you here drinking it?”

“Well, that's _just it_!” Anthony cried. “That's just it! Do you know, I have beautiful wife, a beautiful, intelligent, amazing woman who consented to marry _me_ of all people!”

“Why aren't you with your beautiful wife now?” Bruce asked.

“Well, that's _just it_!” Anthony cried again, and his pocket gave up its valiant attempt at holding onto his money. 

He didn't notice, as he continued to ramble, and after a moment, Bruce sighed and got out of his seat to collect up the notes and coins. There must have been one hundred dollars weighing down his hand; he contemplated putting it in his coat pocket and walking away, but Anthony was still bemoaning the fact that he had a beautiful wife who he wasn't with, and Bruce found that he had some morals left.

He replaced the money in Anthony's pocket and took him by the arm. “It's time for you to get some rest,” he said.

He took Anthony back to the tenement he was lodging at and Anthony slept the sleep of the dead on the narrow cot while Bruce stretched out as best he could on the chair.

He awoke in the morning to find Anthony with his head in a bucket of water.

“Please don't end your life in my room,” Bruce said. “I'm renting.”

Anthony sat back with a gasp and slicked back his wet hair. “Better. I take it you're the one that prevented me from thoroughly pickling myself last night.”

“I suppose I did.”

“And you are?”

Bruce pulled himself up and his back cracked ominously. “Bruce... ugh... Bruce Banner.”

“Anthony Stark, pleased to meet you,” Anthony replied, and held out his ice cold, wet hand. Bruce shook it briefly.

“Aren't you...” Bruce rubbed at his eyes. Stark, Stark... “Don't you make... things?”

“Eloquently put, Mr Banner. Yes, Stark Industries primarily makes automobiles and locomotives. But I see I'm not the only inventor in the room.” He gestured to the Bruce's disintegrating leather bound journal. “I'm afraid I nosed around a little. Your research into gamma radiation could be revolutionary. Where do you work?”

Bruce shook his head. “Nowhere.”

Anthony quirked an eyebrow and nodded slowly. “Interesting. Where did you study?”

Bruce sighed. “Nowhere.”

This time both Anthony's eyebrows went up. “What do you mean, nowhere? A man doesn't do research like that without studying up first.”

Bruce shrugged. “I was born into poverty, orphaned at eight. I've never been to school.”

Anthony shook his head slightly. “Good lord,” he muttered, before looking back at Bruce. “A self-made man, eh? Come work for me.” 

Bruce blinked. “Uh. No,” he said after the shock of the moment passed.

“No?”

Bruce shook his head. “No, thank you.”

Anthony tried to convince him, but Bruce wouldn't let himself be swayed. Why, even he wasn't entirely sure. He had never accepted the charity of the others, had always refused the pitying faces and offers of money when he left the poorhouse for the day as a child. Perhaps Stark hadn't looked upon him in pity, but it didn't feel far enough removed for his comfort.

Stark eventually conceded defeat, or so Bruce had thought, and left. Later in the day, Bruce found a hundred dollars tucked between the pages of his journal. As if he was a whore of some description. Though frankly that would be a more honest existence than the one Bruce lived.

A week after Stark's departure, Bruce received a letter by messenger, the first of that sort he'd ever received, and the first letter he'd got in a good long while. Inside the envelope was a printed card that said, 'you are cordially invited to luncheon at the home of Mr and Mrs Anthony Stark, Friday, the twenty third of May, one o'clock in the afternoon', along with roll of bills and a handwritten note.

The note read, 'I have enclosed some funds to perhaps help you travel to New York if you are so inclined. However, please do as you wish with the money without anxiety. However! my offer STILL stands! - A. E. Stark'.

When Bruce counted out the money he found that there was an even five thousand dollars. He'd never seen that much money together in one place; he could live comfortably off that for three years or more.

He debated with himself for a week. He needn't go, Anthony had said as much, yet to take a man's money without even acknowledging the kindness would cement Bruce's position as pickpocket and thief. He could, perhaps, go to Stark's home and return the money he hadn't spent on travelling there, to put his mind and conscience at ease.

Of course, he knew that the likelihood that he'd be able to part with his ticket out of tenement slums and weeks without anything more than bread and water was slim, but Bruce had always told himself comfortable lies and was far too old to change now.

-

Stark's butler lets Bruce in and shows no visible signs of surprise at Bruce's filthy shoes, or his discoloured coat, or the fact that he travelled all the way from Chicago without even a suitcase. He's led to a gaudy, luxurious room and given the suggestion to bathe in the equally gaudy and luxurious bathroom, which includes both hot and cold running water. Bruce could take offence at the implication, but he enjoys the bath too much to care.

Anthony is clearly thrilled to have won the battle of wills and his wife, Virginia, seems well-disposed towards Bruce, which perhaps accounts for why he finds himself, two months after his arrival, still in his gaudy, luxurious room. After all, Virginia was the one to extend the invitation to stay, and Bruce likes to think that he can be fairly gentlemanly. He isn't sure, but refusing a lady doesn't seem like the gentlemanly thing to do.

It's certainly not an onerous task to take on, to live in someone else's manor and be fed and cared for by servants, and only a week in had Bruce noticeably put on weight. Anthony takes him several times to a tailor, and Bruce is outfitted with trousers, shirts, shoes, waistcoats, and a heavy wool coat to be used when it gets cold again. He also gets a much needed haircut and has a harrowing afternoon with a dentist.

“It feels like you're getting me ready to present to the world,” Bruce says, looking at himself in a shop window. He's certainly not unrecognisable, but he does look different. And these new shoes of his are not pleasant to walk in.

“Don't be silly, Bruce,” Anthony says, “I simply have to maintain a certain image.”

“Thanks...”

Anthony laughs and strides on ahead. “Oh, by the way, I'm having some guests stay next week, you'll love them.”

“I will?” Bruce asks, but Anthony doesn't hear it.

-

Anthony's guests arrive five days later, two young women and an older man. Bruce watches from an upstairs window as they retrieve their luggage from the cab.

“Good lord, Erik, I can carry my own bag!” one of the women snaps at the older man, evidently Erik, outside the house. Bruce watches from an upstairs window as she pulls the small leather bag from Erik's hand and storms away. The other woman hurries after the first, sparing a moment to pull a face at Erik before disappearing inside.

Bruce is quite certain that these next few days will be interesting ones.

-

Dinner is set for eight. Bruce is compelled to wear a vest and a bow tie, and when he looks at himself in the mirror he's put in mind of a monkey he once saw being carted around the town square when he was a child. It was dressed up in a tiny bow tie and jacket, and thrashed wildly at anyone who got close. Bruce hopes he doesn't have quite the same reaction.

Bruce heads down to the dining room and attempts to enter but is stopped by a tap on his shoulder.

“Sir,” Jarvis says. “The ladies have not arrived yet.”

“Oh...” he says, frowning slightly.

“You shall escorting Miss Foster tonight, sir,” Jarvis adds.

“Escorting her?”

“Yes, to the table, sir.”

 

“Oh,” he repeats. “And... how do I do that?”

Jarvis smiles with extreme patience. “Simply extend your arm to her and lead her to her seat. Each seat has a place name.”

“I see. Thank you, Jarvis.”

“It is my pleasure, sir.”

A few minutes later the ladies descend the staircase behind the man from earlier. One of the ladies is in a pale green dress that rather... enhances her bosom, while the other lady is in purple, her curly hair falling about her slightly haughty face. Erik takes the arm of the first lady while the second approaches Bruce.

“I believe your arm is mine, sir,” she says.

“Uh, yes...” Bruce says and extends his elbow to her. She slips her delicate hand into the crook of his arm and they enter the dining room in a line. Bruce and his lady are the last to be seated, the two of them on one side of the table.

“Appetisers will be served shortly,” Anthony says, “but first, I'll make some introductions. Bruce Banner, meet Miss Jane Foster, Miss Darcy Lewis, and Dr Erik Selvig, and so forth.”

There's a murmuring of hellos and Bruce glances at Jane and smiles. She smiles back and brushes a ringlet of hair away from her face. Her soft curls are pinned back with a few glittery accessories.

“What is it that you do, Mr Banner?” Jane asks, in a crisp English accent.

“I'm...” He pauses, unsure of how to answer that question without embarrassing himself.

“He's an inventor, a pioneer of the scientific persuasion,” Anthony says. “I'm trying to talk him into working for me.”

“Is that right?” Jane says. “Well, you can be very persuasive, Anthony.”

“That's what some people call it,” Virginia says.

There's a smattering of laughter which almost, but not quite, covers up the moment that Bruce's stomach decides to join in and growl. He is perhaps getting too comfortable in this lifestyle – he has already had two hearty meals today and yet is hungry _again_.

His stomach is cause for some more laughter and he feels himself begin to turn red.

“The food better come soon or Bruce is going to stage a revolt!” Anthony says.

More laughter, and Bruce takes a sip of his wine to try to cover his reddening face. Thankfully, the first course is brought out a couple of minutes later. The waiter puts down a plate in front of Bruce, which contains three half shells and nothing else. He blinks; what's he supposed to do with this?

“These are the finest oysters money can buy in the colonies,” Anthony says with a mischievous smile. “The saltiest you'll find.”

“I can barely contain myself,” Jane says.

Everyone else seems to know what to do with their oysters, they pick up forks and poke at them while making idle chat. Bruce waits for someone to eat theirs, but everyone lingers over them as they talk. He eyes the array of knives and forks, and wonders if he's meant to pierce the innards with his fork.

There's a tap on his ankle and Bruce turns to look at Jane. She picks up an oyster and tips the shell towards her mouth, swallowing what comes out in one smooth movement, then glances at him and smiles.

He nods slightly in thanks and picks up an oyster carefully. The contents look slimy and unpleasant, but he takes a breath and copies Jane, letting it slide down his throat. It is _quite_ disgusting. He gags a little and starts coughing, and he hurries to cover his mouth with his napkin. Jane watches him out of the corner of her eye, while the others studiously ignore him. 

His coughing fit subsides after a minute and he looks back down at the plate. Two left, and he supposes it's not polite to leave food behind.

Jane clears her throat, pushes her plate over until it touches his, and reaches over to slide the remaining shells onto her plate. Then she pushes her plate back into position and focuses on whatever Anthony is saying. Bruce clears his throat and smiles a little.

The second course is soup, which Bruce is much better positioned to eat, as he has experience with liquid foods. Everyone else eats slowly, though, and he has to force himself not to make uncouth noises or pick the bowl up and drink wholly from it. He never had these kinds of concerns at the poorhouse.

“Bruce!” Anthony says suddenly. “You haven't said a word yet! It is _quite_ rude to stay silent at the dinner table!”

“Oh, I'm, um...” He lays his spoon down in the soup bowl and glances around the table. Jane tries to hide a smile with her hand. “You're from... England?” he says slowly.

She smiles. “I am. London, to be exact. Greenwich, to be tediously exact.”

He nods. “Uh... how do you like it in New York?”

“Oh.” She shakes her head a little. “We've been here many times. You see, my mother was English and my father American. I've lived on both continents.”

Bruce nods, unsure of where to go from there, but Erik jumps in and saves him the bother.

“Personally, I much prefer the weather out here. And the people, much more friendly!” He has a kind of accent that Bruce has never heard before but assumes to be European of some sort. Jane's young friend appears to be American.

The conversation turns to the weather for a few minutes before looping back round to Bruce.

“So, where to you hail from?” Jane asks.

“Ohio,” he says. “Um, Dayton.”

“Oh, I've never had the pleasure,” she says.

He shrugs. “There's no pleasure to be had.”

Anthony laughs heartily and calls for the third course while Jane purses her lips in a small smile. The rest of the dinner passes without incident and Anthony suggests that they repair to the drawing room tea and cake. They have to go through all the rigmarole of escorting the ladies to the drawing room again, so Jane slides her arm delicately around his and smiles again.

“Lead the way, good sir.”

Anthony directs them to a couch, and goes around the room asking what everyone wants.

“Lemon glaze or strawberry shortcake?” he asks them.

“The... strawberry one,” Bruce replies.

“I'll have the shortcake too,” Jane says. Anthony smiles widely and looks at Virginia.

“It's a popular dessert,” she says, and points a finger at him. “Do not get any strawberry juice on my lemon cake.”

“Yes, dear,” he says, and bows slightly.

“How long have you known Anthony?” Bruce asks. Virginia, Erik, and Darcy have struck up a conversation, and it seems rude for him to sit in silence and leave Jane ignored.

“Oh, I'd say... ten years. We met at a public lecture at Université de Berne. He was rather intoxicated.”

Bruce has never heard of the Université de Berne, but it certainly sounds like a place he _should_ have heard of, so he nods as if he has.

“And you? How long have you known him?” she asks.

“Three months, thereabouts,” he says.

“Oh, only a short while, then.”

He nods. “We met in... Chicago.”

She nods for a moment, then sits up a little straighter. “Oh, at the Exposition?”

He hadn't even thought that Anthony might have been in the city for the World's Fair, though it makes perfect sense that an industrialist like Anthony Stark would be there, while a thief like Bruce would not even have considered it. “Yes, exactly,” he says.

She smiles. “Oh, I so wanted to go but sadly life got in the way. I went to the one in Paris a few years ago, it was quite wonderful. How was Chicago?”

“Oh, it was... very good, very illuminating...”

“I would imagine so,” she says. “I heard that Tesla was there exhibiting his alternating current. I would have loved to see that.”

“Yes, it was very... interesting,” he says slowly.

Jane nods, her eyebrows drawing together, looking at him like he's a fool. He can hardly blame her for holding that opinion.

Anthony returns a couple of minutes later with a tray of cakes and tea and begins to hand them out.

“Thank you,” Jane says, as she takes her plate and cup. Bruce murmurs thanks as well, and Anthony waves them both off.

“Please, don't let me interrupt the conversation,” he says, and hurries back to Virginia.

There's no more conversation to interrupt, however, and they sit in relative silence while Anthony talks to Erik, and Virginia and Darcy appear to discuss the Free Silver movement. Bruce has nothing to say about that, as the economic depression had little effect on someone as poor as him. Jane picks at her cake, but doesn't finish it, and sets it aside on a table.

Half an hour in, Erik apologises profusely for being impolite but simply must excuse himself to bed. Anthony sees him off with a wave and Erik kisses Jane on the cheek before departing for his room. Virginia and Darcy continue their conversation and Bruce and Jane continue to sit in silence.

Another fifteen minutes passes in this fashion, until Anthony stands up and strides over to Bruce and Jane.

“Would you two like to retire to my study? Leave the politicians to their discussions. I just procured a new telescope, if that sweetens the deal any.”

Jane smiles widely and stands up. “Indeed it does.”

Anthony winks at her and gestures to the door. “Come on, Bruce.”

“I... Okay,” he mumbles and gets up to follow them out.

Anthony's study is on the top floor of the house, some five flights of stairs, and Jane seems rather out of breath by the time they reach the room.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Anthony says, laying his hand on her back.

She presses a palm to her side and smiles. “Yes, yes. I suppose I'm not an athlete quite yet.”

Anthony smiles and nods to the balcony doors. “The telescope is right out there, Miss Foster.”

Her eyes grow wide and she clasps her hands together. “If you gentlemen will excuse me.”

She hurries out to the balcony and Anthony wanders over to a cabinet to retrieve some glasses and a decanter of whiskey.

“Drink?”

Bruce nods. “Thanks.”

He's been in Anthony's study before, but it never fails to overwhelm. It's such a beautiful space, replete with oak floors and oak desks and oak bookcases that hold all the books that anyone could ever hope to read. There are innumerable trinkets dotted around on tables and shelves, and a globe wider than Bruce himself.

“How do you like Miss Foster?” Anthony asks, offering Bruce the glass.

“Uh, yes, she seems like...pleasant company?” Bruce says stiltedly, and takes the glass.

“Exceedingly pleasant,” Anthony says, and tips his glass towards the balcony. “Shall we join her?”

Bruce shrugs and follows Anthony outside, where Jane is bent forward at the telescope.

“Whiskey?” Anthony offers, tapping it against her arm.

“Oh, thank you,” she says, and pulls back to take it from him. “This telescope is wonderful, the magnification is the best that I've seen.”

“Would you expect anything less from me, Jane? Now, what is it that you were looking at? Why don't you show Bruce?”

Bruce blinks in surprise but allows himself to be positioned in front of the telescope. He lowers his eye to the telescope, and Jane touches his shoulder briefly.

“See those five bright stars that appear in a W formation? That's Cassiopeia, named for Queen Cassiopeia in Greek mythology – the W is meant to represent the queen bent over in her chair.”

Bruce looks hard through the telescope, but he can't see it at all – all he can see is the moon.

“I don't... see it,” he murmurs.

“Really?”

She nudges him aside with her shoulder and looks again. “Hm... Perhaps I knocked the positioning slightly. Try now.”

Bruce glances at Anthony, who grins and takes a long sip of his whiskey. Bruce bends to look through the telescope again, careful not to tap it even slightly. Still all he sees is the moon.

“Do you see it now?”

“No...” he murmurs, and is glad that it is mostly dark out here, as his cheeks are beginning to heat up.

“What do you see?”

“The... moon?” he says slowly.

She hmms again and leans in towards him. He attempts to step back but she stops him with a hand on his shoulder and a quiet, 'stay still'. She reaches down and starts turning the end of the telescope, her fingers grazing his face a couple of times. It makes him shiver a little.

“Can you see anything yet?”

“No.”

She twists a little more. “Now?”

He blinks and presses his fingers to his eye for a moment before returning to the telescope. He sees, now, a few faint pin pricks of light. “Oh, I see a little.”

She twists the telescope one more time and suddenly everything comes into view. He takes a breath and looks at all the stars. “Oh...” He remembers, faintly, seeing the sky like this as a child, his mother taking him out into the fields at night to look at the stars. She told him the names of all the constellations, though most of them were lost to time. He hasn't seen the sky like this in years.

“Do you see Cassiopeia now?”

“Yes,” he murmurs. “And... the big dipper. My mother, she once...” He trails off as his eyes warm and his throat starts to feel tight. He stays at the telescope until he feels fairly confident that he can keep himself composed, then steps back and runs a hand over his face.

“It would appear that your sight is quite poor, Mr Banner,” Jane says.

He lets out a long breath and nods. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Wonderful, we'll get you a pair of spectacles!” Anthony says. “Shall we go back inside?”

They go back in, and Bruce tries to keep his head down as much as he can to save him the embarrassment of a reddening face.

“You know, you really look ravishing this evening, Jane,” Anthony says. “Wouldn't you say so, Bruce? Beauty _and_ brains is quite a lethal combination.”

Bruce crosses his arms over his chest and clears his throat. “Well, she's--” He looks at Jane. “You're very, uh...”

Jane laughs. “Don't worry, Mr Banner, Anthony is just teasing the both of us because he's a terrible person.”

“Not so, Jane, you are quite wrong,” Anthony says.

“Well, I'm not sure Pepper would agree with that.”

“Oh, no.” Anthony waves a hand. “I'm quite sure she'd agree that I'm terrible, I'm not denying that charge. I am, however, denying that I'm teasing the two of you. In fact, I have a proposition for you two.”

Jane narrows her eyes. “Is this a proposition that a lady should hear about?”

“Oh yes, yes, this is quite lady friendly.” He turns to Bruce. “My proposition is that, well, that you propose.”

Bruce blinks heavily. “That uh... Sorry?”

“Yes, I second that,” Jane says.

Anthony clears his throat. “Okay, try to keep an open mind until I'm finished. Now, I hope I'm not speaking out of turn, Jane, but you're in a bad spot financially and once your family money is entirely depleted, you're going to find yourself in quite a bind. Added to that, you're really an astonishing scientist but you're limited to the degree to which you can practice.” 

Jane scowls back in reply, and Anthony smiles and looks at Bruce. Bruce doesn't scowl, he feels entirely too taken by surprise to react. “Similarly, Bruce, you're also unable to gain a foothold in the scientific community because of your lack of social standing. So, what I propose is a solution that would be mutually beneficial. Bruce, you'd have the validity of being married to a woman of good breeding and social standing, and Jane, you would have a husband who could allow you easier entry into the masculine world of science. And I think that the two of you could get along quite easily; at the very least, you could tolerate each other.”

“I do so enjoy being tolerated by men,” Jane says, and crosses her arms tightly over her chest.

“Oh, you know that's not what I mean,” Anthony says. “Bruce, do you have something to say?”

Bruce frowns. “I... don't, no.”

“Wonderful! How about I leave the two of you to talk things over, while I go get berated by my wife.”

He hurries away before either of them can argue, and Jane mutters 'exit stage left' under her breath. “Well, this is a fine mess Anthony has left us with,” she adds.

“Yes...”

She narrows her eyes. “You aren't actually considering this, are you?”

“I-- Are you?”

She huffs. “I have known you for less than three hours, Mr Banner, what do you imagine the answer is?”

“You can call me Bruce,” he murmurs.

She pauses and looks at him, and he supposes that that wasn't exactly the thing to say at this very moment.

“I didn't know he was going to do that,” he says.

“I know, your face was answer enough of that. Neither did I. Although Anthony isn't wrong that I... probably need to get married sometime soon. I'm not entirely sure that I want him speculating over my marital and financial status, though.”

“So, you've... run out of money?”

She sighs. “Yes. My father passed when I was ten, my mother when I was eighteen. I didn't have any other living relatives, so Erik, my father's best friend, became my guardian. My father had a good amount of money saved, in stocks and property and cash, but we're finally at the end of it now, and Erik's earning power is not so great. I've resisted marriage for this long, partially to keep control over my estate, but soon I'll have to give up my family's remaining home and I won't be able to rebuild the family fortune alone. I will have to take work as teacher or governess.”

“You don't want to do that?”

“I have no ill feelings against the profession – I had a governess as a child – but it will significantly impact the amount of time that devote to my astronomy work, and I'm not so sure that I have the temperament for it.”

“I see,” he says. “That's... understandable.”

She smiles a little. “Anthony said that you don't have the social standing to make it in the field?”

“That's... one way of putting it,” he says.

“Where did you study? Surely you made some connections there.”

“I...” He shifts from foot to foot and sighs. “I didn't. Go to university, that is. Or, for that matter, school.”

She frowns. “Not at all?”

He shakes his head. “I... well, I was born on a farm in Dayton, and although my father had attended Ohio University, he hadn't managed to build a career for himself and had had to return to the family farm. He said that I didn't deserve any schooling and would have to work as a farm hand. By the time I was eight, they were both... gone, and I was sent to the poorhouse. There was never any discussion that I should attend school.”

Jane's eyebrows go up. “Anthony has made it plain that he believes you to be some manner of genius.”

“I suppose I read a lot,” he says. “My mother saw to it that I wasn't illiterate, despite my father's desire to the contrary.”

“So, is it fair to say that you're a self-made man?”

“I...” Anthony called him that too. 'Self-made'; making himself into a thief and factory worker. “No. I worked in a bottling factory in Chicago, on the assembly line. I didn't meet Anthony at the Columbian Exposition, I couldn't have afforded the entry. I never saw Tesla exhibit anything. We met in a very undesirable restaurant. He was extremely drunk.”

“That part of the story is no surprise. You helped him in his alcoholic stupor, then?”

“Yes, but not before...” He trails off, wondering why he feels compelled to tell her all manner of personal information. “I considered lifting money from his pocket.”

“A thief too?”

He raises his shoulders. “Sometimes.”

“I see,” she murmurs, nodding slowly. “Well, I would worry that you were after the family silver, but since there's none left... You know, this does make you considerably more interesting. You seemed really rather _dull_ before. And it explains you're inability to eat correctly in polite company.”

“Thanks...”

She smiles. “How old are you, Mr Thief and Bottle Factory Worker?”

“Forty one.”

“Ah,” she says, her face going a little pinched. “I'm twenty eight. We have a whole decade between us that neither of us are in. I always found the practice of marrying someone years your senior to be distasteful. Have you been married before?”

He shakes his head, feeling fairly sure that he's beginning to get offended by this whole evening.

“Never?” she asks. “It seems rather suspicious to have lived to the age of forty one and not found someone to marry.”

“I had someone I wanted to marry,” he says shortly. “I wanted to marry her from when I was fourteen years old, but her father wouldn't allow it. He ran the poorhouse I worked in and said that scum like that wasn't appropriate for her. So I left at seventeen and I worked my hardest, got an apprenticeship with a doctor, came back a few years later with a clean face and nice shoes, and I was still rebuffed. A year later she was married off to someone else, and I left the city and never returned. After that, marriage lost its shine.”

“Oh,” Jane says, and clears her throat. “I see.”

He nods and a silence settles over them. Perhaps he was too sharp with her; after all it is strange that he's remained unmarried all these years and were they to marry (is he really, honestly, considering this?) she should have the full range of information about his unfortunate life.

“Perhaps we should both go to bed and talk about this in the morning,” he says.

“Yes, yes, I think that's wise,” she murmurs and smiles a little. She drinks what's left of the whiskey in her glass and places it on Anthony's desk. 

Bruce follows suit and they leave together and walk down two flights of stairs before parting ways. Bruce nods to her as he heads to his room, and she smiles back before disappearing down the hallway.

He doesn't sleep for half the night, turning it over in his head. He tries to sleep, to put such a completely ridiculous prospect out of his mind. Marrying a woman he's just met, arranged by a man he just met? It's ridiculous!

And yet... Bruce knows that he'll never go anywhere in life, not as he is now, not any more. He is far too old to achieve anything in the scientific community, to get his research taken seriously by any of the better educated, better bred academics of the world. Marrying Jane would allow him entry into that tightly sealed world.

And if he could serve to legitimise Jane's position, help her maintain her standing and her research, that would be a good deed for him to perform. But then, it really seems that he gets the better end of the deal, and marrying a lady simply for money and power is beyond the limits of his immorality.

He finally falls asleep as the birds begin to twitter.

-

He comes down for breakfast at eleven. Anthony has a particular room for breakfast that overlooks Central Park and apparently receives the perfect amount of sunlight at precisely eleven oh five, at which point he stretches himself out on one of the many couches like a fat, lazy cat.

As he is now.

Bruce sighs and goes to the spread laid out on a table and pours himself a glass of orange juice. He selects a muffin as well, and spreads some butter on it before he feels warm breath on his ear.

“Are you unhappy with me?” Anthony murmurs.

Bruce cringes away. “Ugh. Yes, I am. Can you please step back?”

Anthony huffs and makes a show of moving away from Bruce, spreading his arms and bowing slightly. “I was only trying to help.”

“Well, all you did was embarrass everyone involved.”

“I'm not embarrassed.”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “That is entirely unsurprising.”

“She's out on the balcony, if you'd like to repair your relationship,” Anthony says, then immediately turns tail and flees.

“What relationship?” Bruce murmurs. He eyes the balcony doors and sighs. He supposes that he can't avoid her forever, despite the size of the house, and embarrassment only grows like mould left untreated.

He picks up a second muffin and places both of them on a plate before heading outside. Jane, Darcy, and Erik are all sitting around a glass table.

“Mr Banner,” Erik says, and gestures to the remaining empty chair. “Are you joining us?”

Bruce tries not to frown; he assumes that Jane opted not to tell her guardian about last night and he doesn't want to draw attention by behaving strangely. Jane smiles and inclines her head a little.

“I suppose I am,” Bruce says. He takes the seat and they say their hellos. Bruce sips his juice and thinks of what to say. “So... did you sleep well last night, Dr Selvig?”

“Oh yes, very well. I can never sleep on ships. The toing and froing unsettles me.”

“He isn't exaggerating,” Darcy says. “He was unsettled all over our shared bathroom.”

“Darcy!” Erik snaps.

She rolls her eyes. “Well, it's true. Anyway, we're going to the carnival this afternoon, would you like to join us, Mr Banner?”

He starts a little, taken completely off guard. “Well, I...”

“He's probably busy, Darcy,” Jane says quickly.

Darcy looks at her with a glint in her eye and raises her eyebrows. “Oh, I don't think so, that's not the face of a man who has plans.” She gestures to Bruce's face, which he tries to school into a normal expression. “You don't have plans, do you, Mr Banner?”

“I... Well, I don't... want to intrude...”

“You're not intruding!” Darcy says. “Is he, Jane?”

Jane clears her throat and maintains a very neutral expression. “No, of course not, we'd love to have you.”

“Then it's settled!” Darcy says, with a somewhat maniacal grin on her face.

-

Thankfully, the carnival is being held in Central Park, so they simply walk over to it, cutting down on the time available for awkward silences. The carnival is huge and sprawling, and there's a moment in which the passing farm animals and dirty-faced children reminds him so strongly of his childhood that he stops and takes a breath.

“Oh, the clown act is about to begin!” Darcy says, and points to a wooden sign.

Jane tenses up and lets forth a little, 'ugh' sound.

“Oh yes,” Darcy adds, smiling. “I forgot, you're not fond of clowns, are you, Jane? Well, don't worry, you and Mr Banner can peruse the stalls while Erik accompanies me to the show. We'll meet at five for the trapeze act.”

“I'm not sure...” Erik murmurs, glancing quickly at Bruce. Bruce tries not to feel offended, especially given that he supposes that he would prefer not to be left alone with Jane.

“Oh, don't be silly, _you're_ not scared of clowns,” she says, and latches onto his arm, dragging him away.

“I'm not scared either!” Jane calls after them. “Hm...”

Bruce watches Darcy bustle away with her hand firmly gripping Erik's arm, then looks at Jane. “Do you think that Miss Lewis is in league with Anthony?”

She sighs. “No, I think she is _quite_ capable of being an absolute beast without anyone else's input.”

“Okay. Well...”

“Have you been to a carnival before?” she asks.

“No.”

“Really?”

He shrugs. “I never had reason.”

She looks at him for a long moment, then inclines her head and smiles. “Well, there are games and concession stands and rides... and clowns.”

He laughs a little and she narrows her eyes at him. “Why don't we walk around and see what there is?” he asks.

She sniffs. “Fine.”

The carnival is a cacophony of sounds and colours and people, and it reminds him, somewhat, of the streets of many a city he's lived in, with humanity all around him. There were considerably less elephants in Ohio, though. He stops and looks at it as it's led past by a man holding a rope. It has a mat placed over its back as if like a saddle, and strings of beads placed around its head.

“Have you ever seen an elephant before?” Jane asks.

“No.” It's quite enormous – a hulk of an animal – yet Bruce can see its ribs and it seems, to him, to be sad.

“They decorate them in the Indian style,” she says. “Poorly, I might add.”

“Are they meant to be so thin?”

She purses her lips. “No. Come on, I see a milk bottle game over there.”

The goal of the game is to knock down all the milk bottles stacked in a pyramid. It seems simple enough.

“You should be good at this one,” Jane says, “considering your familiarity with bottles.”

He frowns down at her and she giggles a little. “Sorry,” she says.

The corner of his mouth tips up quite without any input from himself.

“Want to win a toy for the lady, sir?” the carnie asks. It always takes Bruce by surprise, to be called 'sir'; it had never occurred to anyone to call him that before he met Anthony.

He looks at the ball offered to him and, after being nudged by Jane, takes it. He lifts it up and tries to line his arm up with the trajectory of the bottles.

“Can you see the bottles?” Jane says quietly.

He clicks his tongue. “Yes, of course I can see them.”

“Just making sure...”

“Mm,” he hums. He draws his hand back, aiming for the centre of the pyramid, and throws as hard as he can. It doesn't even reach the pyramid, falling short by several inches. “Oh...”

“Second try, sir?” the man asks, offering a second ball, and Jane plucks it from his hand before Bruce can even lift his.

“Let me try,” she says, nudging Bruce out of the way with her hip.

“Of course, m'lady,” the man says with a smirk.

Jane smiles back sunnily and cradles the ball in her hand, keeping her hand low as she swings her arm back. When she throws it, it goes in a straight, upwards line and squarely hits one of the bottom bottles, dislodging the whole lot.

“Oh my,” she says unconvincingly, “it seems that I've won. How strange.”

The carnie scowls and turns to the shelves of toys. “What do you want?”

“Hm,” she murmurs, and taps her fingers against her chin. “Bruce, what do you like?”

“Uh...” He looks at the array of toys, tin and wood and plush. There are dolls and cars and animals and many brightly coloured spinning tops. One toy stands out in particular: a stuffed dog, rust coloured with long ears and a wiry face. “I like the dog,” he says, and points to it.

“I'll take that one, thank you,” Jane says, and the man irritably hands it over. She continues with her sunny smile, and leads Bruce away from the booth with a hand on his elbow.

“They rig them, you see,” she says. “The balls are lighter and the bottles weighted down, so you have to catch them at a different angle.”

“Why didn't you tell me that before I played?”

She shrugs. “Slipped my mind, I suppose. Here, this is for you,” she adds, and thrusts the toy at him. When he doesn't take it, she shakes it slightly. “Take it.”

“Um, shouldn't I...?”

“I believe the tradition is that the winner gives the prize to their companion. You're accompanying me, now take it.”

She shoves it at him again and he takes it. The toy's fur feels rough and there's wire on the inside that makes the dog poseable. It has a black nose and black eyes, and it reminds him a little of the strays that he used feed as a child. He smiles and puts it in his pocket. 

“Thank you.”

She shrugs and turns her head. “Let's go play the ring toss,” she says.

They play several games, and Jane is unusually good at them, winning a prize at each stall, most of which she gives to him. They get some strange looks, but Bruce pockets all of them, and the small collection clinks as he walks.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” a man yells from outside one of the tents. “The trapeze show is about to begin!”

“Oh!” Jane says, and grabs his hand. “I completely forgot!”

She pulls him over to the tent and scans the benches until she finds Darcy and Erik. She keeps hold of his hand until they reach their seats, then quickly drops it.

“There you are,” Darcy says, eyeing them both carefully. “I thought perhaps you'd got a better offer.”

“Oh, shush,” Jane murmurs. “The show's about to start.”

A couple of minutes later, the smarmy looking ringmaster comes out onto the stage and introduces the act. Bruce doesn't pay too much attention, as the man reminds him of many a money-hungry boss. Half of what he says is complete drivel but Bruce listens enough to hear, “And now, the Hawk!”

The trapeze artist is amazing, he has wings attached to his back which he doesn't so much as ruffle as he goes through his routine. At least, Bruce is fairly certain he doesn't, but though he wouldn't admit it to Jane, he can't see the performer very clearly. It's more of an ill-defined solid shape that Bruce knows to be a person. He supposes that he always knew that his eyesight was poor, but it never truly occurred to him; he spent most of his time in close enough quarters with whatever it was that he was looking at that it never posed a problem. Perhaps he is only now beginning to look at the wider picture.

The audience gasps at something the performer does, and Jane grabs his hand, tucking her fingers underneath his palm. He looks at her with slightly raised eyebrows, but her gaze is still on the show, her mouth slightly open. He smiles despite himself, and looks back at the show, leaving his hand exactly where it is. All in, she keeps her hand atop his for five minutes before replacing it primly in her lap.

When the show is over, Darcy starts talking about it very excitedly as they walk back to the manor.

“Are you planning to run away and join the circus?” Jane asks.

“Perhaps!” Darcy says. “Perhaps I will. I am quite limber, you know.”

Jane glances at Bruce with a smile on her face. He quirks an eyebrow at her.

Dinner goes far more smoothly. Bruce knows the proper way to escort a lady now, and the food is far less vexing – no oysters to be seen. Bruce participates in the conversation somewhat, but when it turns to the economy, he has nothing to add. They move to the drawing room after as they did yesterday. The conversation is polite and, frankly, boring, and Bruce starts picking at the dry skin on his hands to fill the time, until Virginia frowns at him and he stops.

Eventually people begin excusing themselves to bed. Erik leaves yawning, Anthony trills a 'good night!' and drags Virginia away, and Darcy grins and says she has a good book she simply must finish. Which leaves just Bruce and Jane in the drawing room.

Jane leans back against the couch and sighs. “Good Lord, that was interminably dull. I thought you were going to start gnawing off your hands to stave off the boredom.”

Bruce laughs. “I considered it.”

She smiles back. “What are conversations like where you're from? I imagine a good deal less talk of _weather_.”

“For the most part it's yelling and spilt beer.”

“Oh,” she sighs wistfully. “That sounds positively wonderful.”

“Well, I wouldn't really know, I don't much get involved in conversations.”

“Ah, the strong, silent genius.” She grins and looks at him. “You know, I only have Anthony's word for it that you're a genius.”

He supposes that she's a little merry from the wine with dinner, and although he only had half a glass, he responds in kind.

“Would you like to come to my room and see my etchings?”

She barks with laughter and presses a hand to her stomach as she shakes a little. Bruce both blushes and grins, and waits for her to finish laughing, which is another minute or so. When she calms, she clears her throat and wipes at her eyes.

“All right,” she says.

“What?”

She gestures to the door and pulls herself up. “Show me your... ahem... research.”

“Well...”

“It's rude to turn a lady down,” she says and gets up off the couch. “Come along.”

“All right,” he says, and gets up to follow her out the door. 

He shows her up to his room, which is in a bit of a state – he finds it far too strange to have staff clean up after him, so he requested that they leave his room be, which they heeded and left him with a growing mess – but Jane doesn't react to that. He gives her his leather bound journal full of his scribblings and attempts to explain the method in his madness.

“I've been looking into the possibility of using radiation from space in treating some forms of cancers...”

Jane waves him off and sits down on his bed. She pages through the journal, leaning in occasionally to scrutinise something.

“Sorry, my handwriting's--”

“Shush!” she says, not looking up as she waves him off again. He closes his mouth and leans against the wall. She spends ten minutes looking over his journal with an unreadable expression on her face.

She looks at him when she's finished, sweeping her eyes up and down his body. Bruce clasps his hands in front of himself.

“Hm,” she murmurs, and gets up. She hands it back to him with a small smile on her face. “You know, this is really... quite brilliant.”

“Thanks,” he says, smiling, and takes hold of it. When he pulls it towards himself, though, she doesn't let go. “Um.”

“I think I really could tolerate you,” she says.

“Uh, thanks...” he murmurs, and tugs a little on the book. She lets it go and stands.

“Would you care to marry me, Mr Banner?”

He opens his mouth and closes it again. She smiles a little, eyebrows raised. “I...” 

“You see,” she says, not giving him time to struggle for words, “I do think you're perhaps a genius as Anthony says. And I don't find you _un_ attractive.”

“Thanks,” he repeats. “I thought... you found Anthony's proposal offensive?”

“When I thought you were dull-witted, yes.”

Bruce sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.

“Am I not making a good impression?” she asks.

He chuckles a little. “Not especially, Miss Foster.”

“Yes, that has been my problem in the past,” she says. Her eyes seem mischievous, and she bites her lip for a moment before leaning up and kissing him. She presses her lips to his and holds them there, and he lifts his hand to her shoulder. He hesitates for a second before closing his fingers around the cloth of her dress and leaning into her. She parts her lips slightly and Bruce presses his tongue between them. She allows it for a moment before pulling away.

“You can give me your answer in the morning,” she says and tidies her hair before leaving the room, leaving Bruce with a frown on his face and a tingling sensation on his lips.

He spends another night tossing and turning, going over and over it in his mind. He's poor, he's old, and he's uneducated; this is by far his best option. Yet he is poor, old, and uneducated; doesn't Jane deserve better than to be saddled with that? To use a young woman like that – operative word being _young_ – seems quite unforgivable.

But then, she is using him too, and she has made the decision free of pressure from him or Dr Selvig. It is, after all, her choice to make.

He falls asleep at dawn.

-

He is still not decided when he comes down for breakfast, and delays the eating of it until his stomach can wait no longer. 

Everyone is gathered on the balcony, having what appears to be another interminably dull conversation. Jane rises as soon as he steps out of the door and hurries over to him.

“Hello, Mr Banner,” she says. “Have you given thought to what we discussed last night?”

“I-- Yes.”

“And? Are you the marrying kind?” she asks softly. Only Anthony is glancing over at them with interest.

“Um.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“Um...” he repeats and runs his hand over his face. She's watching him with interest, and he's also fairly interested in what he's about to say. “I... Yes.” 

“Yes?” she repeats. “That's a yes to marrying me?”

“Yes...” he says, frowning a little.

A small spreads across her face. “Wonderful! Let's tell everyone the good news then?”

“Now?” he says as she grabs hold of his hand. Anthony sits up straighter in his chair. “Don't you think--”

“I have news!” Jane says loudly. Four pairs of eyes turn to face them. “Mr Banner and myself are going to be wed.”

“What?” Erik shouts, and jumps out of his seat. “Have you got her in the family way, Banner?”

Bruce shies back until Jane tugs him forward again. “Good _God_ , Erik,” she says, “I am twenty eight years old, I am quite capable of not becoming pregnant.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Erik says.

Jane sighs and rolls her eyes. “That's none of your concern. You've been saying for months that I must procure a husband for myself, and here he is.” She gestures with an open palm towards Bruce. “He has no job, no money, and no family, just the same as I, so we should be well-matched.”

“For God's sake, Jane, you've known him for two days!”

“Yes, and I knew Richard for three hundred and sixty five and he still bored me to tears. At least Bruce has some personality.” She turns to look at him; everyone is looking at him, either with a smile or a frown. “Well, not currently, but it's in there somewhere.”

Bruce pulls a face at her

“This is ridiculous,” Erik grumbles.

“Ridiculously fun!” Anthony says, and jumps up from his seat, clapping his hands. “Come, let's make plans!”

-

Anthony and Virginia immediately start making hurried plans for the wedding. They seem to enjoy it immensely.

“We'll have it in the atrium!” Virginia announces as Erik glares at Bruce and Darcy wiggles her eyebrows at Jane.

“We can have the pastor here by the middle of next week!” Anthony adds.

“Oh God,” Bruce murmurs, and runs a hand over his face.

“They are getting rather excitable, aren't they?” Jane says quietly. “Let's leave them to it for a while.”

She closes her small fingers around his arm and guides him out. “They'll calm by evening. I should hope, at least,” she says as they step out into the hallway.

“Are we really going to marry in two weeks?” he asks.

She shrugs. “There's no reason to delay, is there? It's not as if we're going to have a grand romance first.”

“No...” he says. “No, of course.”

Jane hums and smiles a little. “Well, I think I'm going to go read in the garden. What are you going to do?”

“I suppose I'll... go back to my room and work for a while.”

Jane nods. “I'll see you later for dinner, then?”

“Yes,” he says, and tries to smile widely.

“Good,” she replies and brushes her hand against his arm as she leaves.

He flees to his room to avoid the numerous and inevitable discussions he's going to be having on this matter with everyone in the house and tries to follow Jane's lead and read. It's not as easy as all that, though, as his mind takes a rambling walk away from the page every few minutes. After half an hour he gives up and lies down on his bed. He falls asleep and sleeps through till dinner, making up for his fitful early morning slumber. He wakes when Jarvis knocks on his door and informs him that supper will commence in fifteen minutes, and it's not until he's descending the stairs that he realises he'll have to escort Jane to the table yet again.

She's changed out of her day wear and into an ivory and blue tightly corseted dress, her hair pulled up with loose ringlets framing her face. Attraction is certainly not at question in his case.

Erik looks positively murderous when Bruce offers Jane his arm.

Supper tonight is soup followed by turkey and of course as soon Bruce smells the soup, his stomach growls.

“Now, that's something you're going to have to get used to, Jane,” Anthony says.

Jane smiles thinly. “I am sure in time I shall learn to live with it.”

Bruce rubs at his face and sighs. When he lowers his hand again. Erik is glaring at him from across the table. What a wonderful endeavour he's undertaking.

“It's been very balmy today,” Virginia says.

“Yes, very... summery,” Jane replies and spares a glance for Bruce.

They all begin eating their soup in silence and concentrating very intently on it, too.

“ _Well_ ,” Anthony announces loudly after a very tense few minutes. “What are everyone's plans for tomorrow?”

There's a long pause around the table and Anthony sighs and throws his hands up in the air. “We can't just sit and eat in silence, now can we?”

“We could try,” Jane murmurs, just loud enough for Bruce to hear. He smiles slightly.

“My seamstress is visiting tomorrow to fit Jane, Darcy, and I for dresses,” Virginia says.

Erik grumbles and Anthony grins. 

“Wonderful! There's no point wasting time,” he says. “What colour will it be, Jane?”

She raises her shoulder. “I hadn't put any consideration to it. I suppose whatever is available and suits me.”

“Ever the pragmatist,” Anthony says. “Have we contacted the pastor?”

“I sent Happy with a message this afternoon,” Virginia says.

Anthony smiles. “Well, I for one am excited, even if the bride and groom are decidedly apathetic.”

The dinner continues and Bruce remains, as Anthony has identified, decidedly apathetic about the whole evening. When they move into the drawing room, cheesecake is served which is so good that Bruce has to restrain himself from licking the plate. Jane, however, eats a little over half and then quietly switches plates with him. The conversation is stilted and dull and when Erik excuses himself to bed, he insists that Jane and Darcy come with him. Apparently Bruce is no longer safe to spend time with without a chaperone.

“Don't worry,” Anthony says, “he'll warm up to you.”

Bruce smiles wanly and makes his own excuse for bed.

He sheds his jacket, waistcoat, and bow tie as soon as he has his door closed behind him, then lies down on the bed and picks up his discarded book from earlier. _North and South_ ; so far he's finding it tedious, though he's rather fond of the heroine of the story.

There's a soft knock at the door and he braces himself momentarily for Erik's angry voice, but what comes is a soft, 'Mr Banner?'.

He puts the book aside and gets up off the bed. It's Jane, at his chamber door, as it were.

He opens the door and smiles slightly. “I think we can forgo the formality of last names, Miss Foster.”

She sighs and gestures towards the room. “May I come in, _Bruce_?”

“Of course, Jane,” he says, and steps aside.

She bustles in and he closes the door behind her. “It's as lovely as I remember it,” she says, looking about the room.

“As are you,” he replies.

She looks at him for a long moment, then smiles and gestures to the bed. “May I?”

“Of course,” he says.

She sits down on the bed, arranging her skirts primly, and looks down at the book. “Oh, you're reading this?” she asks, picking it up.

“I'm about halfway through.”

She nods slowly. “The difficult romance between an upper class woman and a self-made man.”

“A haughty, snobbish woman,” Bruce rejoins, suddenly bold.

“And a bullish, coarse man,” she replies.

They stare at each other for a moment before Bruce laughs and approaches the bed. “Anthony recommended it.”

Jane smiles back. “I am sure that he did.”

Bruce stops in front of the bed and looks down at her. “Of course, I'll never be as successful as Mr Thornton.”

“And I'll never take that great an interest in politics.” She pats the blanket next to her and he sits down. “I thought I should come speak with you about all of today's revelations. I'm sorry that Erik has been so beastly.”

“It's fine,” he says. “I'm not unused to it.”

Jane looks at him and frowns. “Don't try to elicit extra sympathy from me.”

“You already feel sympathy for me?”

“Well.” She pushes her her back and sniffs. “You _are_ quite pitiful.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “I can't imagine why you haven't been snapped up for marriage already.” 

She opens her mouth to reply but her stomach replies for her, growling loudly. She looks down and blinks.

“I see I'm in good company,” he says.

“It seems so...”

“Are you hungry?” He recalls that she didn't finish her dessert, nor eat her chicken with much excitement.

“I suppose I am.”

He frowns. “You didn't finish your dessert this evening. In fact, you never seem to eat much, you always pick at it like a bird.”

She wrinkles her nose. “When you wear a corset while eating, we'll see how much you can force down.”

“Why do you wear it then?”

“Because of society, of course,” she says. “It's expected.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I'm fairly certain that society prohibits you from stealing into my room at night and moreover kissing me with some fervour last night.”

“You flatter yourself,” she says, but her stomach growls louder. She purses her lips.

“Why don't you take it off?” he says, and the moment those words make their escape from his mouth, he regrets it. He's speaking to her like the surly men in the pubs he used to frequent spoke to the barmaids; she'd be well within her rights to slap him.

“And have you see me in my underwear?” she replies, eyebrows climbing.

He clears his throat. “I won't look.”

She stares at him for a long moment before clicking her tongue. “You can look.”

She gets up off the bed before he has time to think about what she said, and begins to undress. She turns her back to him and starts on the front buttons of her dress. He watches unblinking as the dress slips from her delicate shoulders, down her narrow waist, and crumples to the floor. Underneath she's wearing a camisole and the corset in question. She raises her hands to her hair and pulls out little clips and pins until her hair comes free, falling in ringlets both tight and loose all the way to her... behind. She is utterly fearless, he realises.

She turns back to face him and puts her hands on her hips. His gaze is situated somewhere around her middle and it takes him a moment to look up at her.

“I can't get the corset off on my own,” she says. “Will you help me?”

“I...” He blinks at her and stands up. “Yes.”

She turns back around again, and twists her hands around to gesture at the criss-crossed ribbons that hold the back together. “Can you loosen the ribbon enough to let me step out of it?”

“Okay,” he says softly. He releases the bow with a quick pull and works on loosening the ribbon enough so that the two halves pull apart. Once that's done, Jane lets it drop to the floor and turns back to him again. He can't help but look down at her body, now clad in only a thin white chemise; she's such a tiny thing, he can't imagine why she'd need to wear a corset.

Jane smiles knowingly at him. “Could you extend me the loan of a dressing gown?”

“Oh... Oh, yes, of course.” He hurries to the closet and retrieves a dressing gown for her. 

She wraps it around herself tightly and quirks an eyebrow. “Now what would you like me to do?”

“Um...”

“I'm a fair dancer,” she adds.

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Well... are you still hungry? We could get some food.”

“What do you propose?”

“We could... liberate the last of the cheesecake from the kitchen.”

She smiles. “Theft?”

“Cake doesn't fetch much on the black market.”

She smiles wider and gestures to the door. “Show me how it's done.”

They creep out into the hallway, peer around every corner, and tiptoe down the stairs. It's actually rather fun, like the jolly adventures in books he used to read as a child.

“I haven't pinched anything from the kitchen in years,” Jane whispers. “I used to take what was left of the ice cream after my parents had finished dining.”

“Sometimes I managed to get pieces of bread and some flour soup,” he whispers back.

She tuts and flicks his ear. 

“Ow!” he hisses, and turns to look at her. “What was that for?”

She screws up her face. “Do you even know where you're going?”

He looks around the hallway; all the doors looks the same and he's never been to the kitchen before. “No,” he admits.

She 'hm's and switches places with him, leading the way on their search. They make it to the kitchen without incident and hide around the corner, peering at the door. The staff go in and out with dishes and buckets, and in all they wait ten minutes before Jane deems it safe to approach.

“I'll peer in and assess the situation,” she murmurs, and reaches out to nudge the door open. Yet it opens quite without her touching it.

Jarvis stands on the other side, looking at them with the faintest of raised eyebrows. They both take a step back.

“Mr Banner, Miss Foster, is there some way that I may be of help?”

Bruce folds his arms over his chest. “Uh...” 

“Well...” Jane tips her chin up and pushes her hair back. “We were... well, to be blunt, we were hungry.”

“Is there something in particular that you would like from the kitchen?” Jarvis says, looking at each of them in turn.

“The cheesecake?” Bruce says.

“Of course,” Jarvis says with a nod, and moves back from the door.

“And a bottle of sherry!” Jane calls as he retreats. She glances at Bruce and shrugs. “We may as well enjoy ourselves to the fullest.”

“Of course,” he says.

Jarvis returns shortly with a silver tray piled with near half a cheesecake, two plates, assorted cutlery, a bottle of sherry, and two glasses.

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Jane says, taking it from him. “I hope mine and Mr Banner's wander around the house will stay strictly between the three of us...”

“Madam, the activities of Mr Stark's guests are no concern of mine, or his.”

She inclines her head. “Thank you, Jarvis,” she repeats.

They return to his room without incident and Jane lays the tray on the bed and takes her seat beside it. She takes up a fork and carves herself a generous helping. When she takes a bite she squeaks and moans, then falls back against the covers, fork still in her mouth.

He chuckles. “Good cake?”

She stretches her legs out, waving her pointed feet at him, then removes the fork from her mouth. “Heavenly. Come try some!”

He comes over and sits down, the tray sitting between the two of them. “I ate two slices just a couple of hours ago.”

“Then it's all for me!” she says and sits up just enough to cut herself another helping, then lies back with one arm under her head.

“Would you like a cushion?” he asks.

She smiles sweetly at him. “Yes, please.”

He laughs and leans across her to pick up one of the many soft, overstuffed cushions that are scattered about his bed. When he rights himself, she looks up at him with raised eyebrows and a pursed smile. She pushes herself up onto her elbows and he places the cushion under her head.

“Thank you,” she says, and lies back again.

He nods and picks up a fork of his own, digging into the cake himself.

“I suppose we should--” she starts around a mouthful of cake. She laughs a little and covers her mouth with her hand until she swallows. “Talk about... Well, get better acquainted.”

He nods but doesn't say anything. She sighs and sits up again, picking up the bottle to pour herself a glass. She drinks it all in one clean tip of the glass and pours herself another, then fills the other glass and nudges it over to him.

“Ask me something,” she says.

He picks up the glass and takes a sip, then holds it between his hands. “Okay... Um... who's Darcy? Is she a cousin? A friend?”

“Oh,” Jane sighs. “Darcy is... Well, Darcy _was_ my maid. She was born to a young scullery maid who had got into some trouble with the coachman, and was bound for the orphanage before my mother said they could both stay in the household, so long as she was kept out of the way of the family. We were regular playmates without my mother's knowledge, and when Darcy reached the age of twelve my mother decided that it was time for her to enter the service as my lady's maid. She is not what you might call a natural servant but I hadn't the heart to complain about my lop-sided hairdos and the dust beneath my bed. After my mother passed and money was dwindling I told her that I could provide her a food and a warm home, but I could no longer pay her and that it would be more advantageous for her to find employment in another household. She decided to stay on with me.”

“That was nice of you,” he says, “although, wouldn't it have been better for you if she hadn't stayed? Less expense?”

She leans over to take another sip of her sherry and smiles a little. “It would, but... she is my sister in all but biology. I would sooner have her with me than apart. Not that I would tell her that.” 

Bruce laughs. “I'll keep your secret.”

She grins. “Thank you. And what about you? Any siblings?”

“No, only me.”

She nods, her expression growing serious. “And you were orphaned at a young age?”

He looks back at her for a moment, then takes a breath. “I consider myself an orphan, yes.”

“You consider it?” she says, a frown marring her brow. “What does that mean? I didn't think orphanhood was a matter of opinion.”

“It means...” He rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs. “That my father has spent the majority of my life in a sanatorium for the murder of my mother and I do not consider his existence to be of importance.”

When he looks down at her, her eyes are wide and her mouth pursed. “Oh,” she says softly. “I'm sorry to have brought it up.”

He shrugs. “It's fine.”

She nods and clasps her hands together. “Can I ask you another potentially upsetting question?”

He laughs and then nods. “Go ahead.”

“What was your time in the poorhouse like? I've read about such things in Dickens's novels but I've never met anyone who was in one before.” She rolls over onto her side and props her chin up on her hand; she looks childishly fascinated and perhaps he should be insulted but he finds it rather gratifying that someone is so interested in him.

“Well, there was some truth to _Oliver Twist_ , though we ate slightly more. Certainly begging for more food would have worked out poorly. The poorhouse was on a farm, and everyone worked, so long as they could walk and even besides.”

“Even the little children?”

He tips up the corner of his mouth. “They have hands, don't they? That's what the director used to say. I had hands... When we were small they'd use us to unjam any problems in the machinery, our bodies were thin enough to reach into the small spaces. I saw a boy's arm clean separated from his body at the elbow while he was clearing twigs and grass from between the wheels of a plough. The horse bolted before he had time to pull free.”

Jane's mouth drops open. “That's horrifying,” she says. “What happened to him?”

“Well... he died. Bled to death in a matter of minutes.”

She wrinkles up her nose and shakes her head. “And this is where you met... the woman you wanted to marry?”

He pinches in between his eyes. He hasn't thought on this in decades.

“If you'd rather we didn't speak about it...” Jane murmurs.

He drops his hand and picks up the glass, taking another sip. “No, no, it's fine. Yes, she lived in the manor house on the same estate the poorhouse was on, though they were very far apart. We met for the first time when she snuck into one of the barns to explore. After that she'd bring me books and writing equipment and we had all sorts of hiding places around the property for our treasures. And then we had other kinds of things to hide... And then her father caught us.”

She looks pained and nods. “Then what happened?”

“Well, I am lucky to be here today to tell you this story. As soon as I was able I fled the farm and took up an apprenticeship in Virginia.”

“Oh, with the doctor?” she says. “What was that like?”

“Hard work. I had to hold patients down a lot, while the doctor performed surgery. One memorable time I had to sit on a man's chest while he had his leg sawn off.”

She wrinkles up her nose and shakes her head. “What is it with you and severed limbs?”

He laughs a little. “Just luck, I suppose.”

She tuts and rolls her eyes. “Did you consider becoming an actual doctor?”

“I did, but... you have to attend university to qualify as a doctor, and you have to have an education to attend university.”

“Ah yes, I see your problem.”

He smiles and takes another sip from his glass. Jane drains her entire glass, refills it, and cuts another chunk of cake. When he raises his eyebrows at her, she sticks out her tongue then sticks the fork in her mouth.

“What about you?” he asks, “what about your romantic entanglements? I'm sure you've had some.”

She swallows her cake and clears her throat. “Oh, some. The first was Donald. He was a doctor. I was sixteen and he was twenty five. He could be a terrible bore and so condescending. Thankfully when I told my mother that I wouldn't marry him she agreed that he was quite a poor match for me.”

“And what about this Richard man that you brought up earlier today?”

“Oh, _Richard_ ,” she says, and rolls her eyes. “Quite frankly the dullest man on Earth. Very nice. _Very_ dull. I dragged the courtship up for a whole year just to stave off the inevitable.”

“Apparently by your estimation, everyone's dull,” he says.

“Everyone is!” she cries, and spills a little sherry on his bed covers. “Sorry,” she murmurs, before taking a dramatic intake of breath. “But everyone _is_ , until proven otherwise.”

“Have I been proven otherwise?”

“You're on the way,” she says.

“I'm honoured,” he says, and lies down against the bed. He can feel sherry warming his skin a touch, making his eyes feel heavier. He lets his lids slide shut and stretches out on the luxurious softness.

“I did have one other suitor,” Jane says quietly.

He doesn't bother to open his eyes. “Oh?”

“He was a prince.”

Bruce opens his eyes and frowns up at the ceiling for a moment before turning his head to her. “Figuratively or literally?”

“Literally. He was Norwegian royalty, I met him through Erik, while we were travelling in Scandinavia. I fancied that I was rather in love with him.”

“Why didn't you marry him, then?”

“Oh,” she sighs. “All sorts of reasons. His father and brother didn't like me one bit, though his mother was kind to me. Thor himself was--”

“Thor?” Bruce repeats.

She snorts. “They were very traditional. Thor was a lovely man, boisterous, smart, loving, it was easy to become swept up in his world. But I realised that I couldn't bear the pressure of being part of royalty.”

“You couldn't stand all the money and adoration?”

“And the balls and dinners and _babies_. The inexorable weight of expectation. My research would have suffered. I don't have it in me to be a royal.”

“You seem fairly royal to me already,” he says.

“That is because you are a pauper,” she says, then starts laughing. It's a terrible sound, like a pig snorting and snuffling for scraps, and it brings a smile to his face. Jane keeps snorting for another minute before settling back down, picking up the bottle and unsteadily pouring out two new glasses. “Drink up,” she says, “It's very ungentlemanly of you to allow me to be tipsy while you're sober as a judge.”

“I'm not entirely sober,” he says.

“Well, you are much more sober than I,” she says, “now _drink up_.”

“If you insist,” he murmurs, and takes up the glass.

An indeterminate amount of time later the cheesecake is demolished and he feels quite merry and sleepy, and everything sends them in peels of giggling, though Jane's is still quite horrific sounding.

“Bruce,” she says suddenly, at a sharp volume, and he struggles against his lazy eyelids. “Do you think I'm terribly foolish?”

“What?” he mumbles and manages to flop his head in her direction.

“Well,” she says, and waves her arm expansively, “I act as if your childhood is a storybook and I berate you for not being as high... high... high as me and then I near throw myself upon you in the hopes that you'll like me...”

She talks an awful lot for someone a fair bit past tipsy.

“Donald says it wasn't femi-- fem—feminine to behave as I did-- do. Perhaps, perhaps there's a reason why I cannot find a man who will marry me.”

He pushes himself onto his side with some effort and scrutinises her. “You are exceedingly feminine,” he says.

“But I'm so _loud_ ,” she says—loudly.

“You are quite shrill at times,” he agrees, “but that only adds to your femin... femaleness.”

“Perhaps I should behave more modestly...” she murmurs, seemingly unhearing of what he's just said.

“I enjoy you exactly as you are,” he says.

She looks at him and her mouth purses into a little bow for a moment. “I find you rather pleasingly masculine also,” she says quietly.

He smiles and she licks her lips.

“I can remove my corset alone,” she continues, “I only acted otherwise in an attempt to seduce you.”

“Oh,” he murmurs.

She bites her lip. “Did it work?”

“Yes,” he says softly, and shuffles towards her. The tray between them presses cold and hard against his stomach as they both lean in and kiss. It's a brief, lazy kiss, but it's still most enjoyable and they don't move much from their positions once it's over, instead both choosing to close their eyes and sleep exactly as they are.

-

She wakes to the congested rumbling sounds that only a man can make. She opens her eyes and finds that Bruce's mouth is wide open and drooling onto the eiderdown. _Lovely_ , she thinks vaguely, before a jolt goes through her and she hauls herself up. Good lord, it's _light_ outside, how long have they been sleeping for?

She casts about for a minute searching for a clock, and eventually finds one that tells her it's only nine thirty in the morning. She breathes a sigh of relief; everyone will probably still be asleep at such an hour, but she should still make haste from Bruce's chamber.

She stands up and removes Bruce's dressing gown, then retrieves her corset from the floor and puts it back on. She laces it just tight enough to stay up, then pulls her camisole and dress on over the top.

Bruce begins to stir, rolling onto his back with a puff of air. Oh, she simply can't have this conversation now. 

She slips her shoes back on and hurries over to him. “Sleep, it's early... I'll see you later for breakfast.” Bruce murmurs something and she ducks down and presses a quick kiss to his mouth. “Must go, you understand.”

Then she flees his room before giving herself time to consider her actions. Thankfully there is no one loitering the halls and she makes it back to her room without being spotted.

“Thank God,” she sighs as she gets through the door.

“Finally, you return!” Darcy cries.

Jane jumps and slams the door closed. “Good God, what are you doing in here?”

“I've been in here for an hour, waiting for you to return!”

“I was... in the garden,” Jane says, waving her hand towards the window. “I woke early and couldn't get back to sleep.”

Darcy arches an eyebrow. “Is that so? Then why weren't you here when I came in at four in the morning?”

Jane looks at her and Darcy stares back, unblinking. Jane purses her lips and sighs. “Oh fine! I was in Bruce's room!”

Darcy's eyes go round. “Aha, I tricked you! I never came into your room last night!”

Jane rubs a hand over her face and sighs. “Oh congratulations, Sherlock.”

Darcy looks positively giddy. “Mr Banner's room! My God, Jane, like a wanton harlot!” She grins from ear to ear.

“Nothing untoward happened.”

“Really?” Darcy trills. “He didn't press tender kisses to your face, you didn't yield to his strong, downy arms – it's really quite pleasant when he rolls his sleeves back, isn't it? Nothing... _throbbed_?”

“Darcy, please!” Jane shrieks, her cheeks most likely burning a healthy shade of pink. “That filth that you read, really.”

“You speak as though you haven't read them too, my lady. I know you to be an insatiable... reader.”

Jane sighs and walks to the chest of drawers to change into a new outfit. “We kissed. That's _all_.”

“Really? Then why do your clothes look so ruffled?”

“I slept in them. On top of the covers.”

Darcy hums for a moment before Jane feels the back of her dress be yanked back. She wrests herself from Darcy's grip, but Darcy's already smiling from ear to ear.

“Then why is your corset loosened?”

Jane turns to her and blink. “Well, well... Well, all right, I took it off to... attract Bruce, but nothing happened.”

“Loosening it for sleep would have been a perfectly good explanation,” Darcy says with a twinkle in her eye. “You 'attracted' him, eh?”

Jane stares at her for a second, then shakes the collection of undergarments clutched in her hand. Her mother was right that Darcy would grow comfortable and ill-mannered if they became too entwined with each other. “Oh, just... shush, Darcy,” she says, and lays out her things on the bed. “I need to get dressed.”

“Very well,” Darcy says, and falls quiet for a moment as Jane begins to change her clothes. “Did it work?”

Jane smiles to herself, willing herself to not look up. “Yes,” she says.

-

Breakfast is in equal parts uncomfortable and thrilling. Erik seems fit to be tied, but Bruce keeps looking up at her and smiling, and it's really all quite exciting. They don't speak to each other, communicating only in glances and smiles, and this serves to make Erik even more chokingly irate.

Pepper cuts off any issuances from Erik by announcing that the seamstress will be arriving soon to fit Jane for her dress. Jane hurries with the last of her breakfast and leaves with a final smile for Bruce.

She has given no thought to the look, material, or colour of the dress and is looked upon with suspicion by the lady who takes her measurements.

“Whatever you think is best,” Jane says, to the seamstress's displeasure. For most of her life, her mother or Darcy chose her clothing, and in recent years she's been unable to purchase anything new.

“White, I think,” Pepper says. “With sleeves, it's the fashion these days. The train should extend no more than eighteen inches, I think, any longer would overwhelm her frame. Perhaps some beading on the bodice, I've seen lovely designs in the last few years. Silk would be best, I think.”

Darcy looks at Jane and smiles. “Well, there you are.”

Pepper clears her throat. “I'm sorry. Anthony says I can be quite overbearing at times, though he enjoys it.”

Jane shakes her head, offering the seamstress a brief smile. “I don't mind, this is your realm. I remain quite overbearing in mine.”

“That is very true,” Darcy says.

Jane clicks her tongue.

The seamstress spends the next hour measuring and sewing while Jane alternately stands on a pedestal or sits and browses through a book. She doesn't get much time to read fiction these days, but she finds _Tess of the D'Urbervilles_ compelling and frustrating in equal measure. The seamstress assembles lengths of silk and lace on her with pins until they resembles a dress. Jane thinks it will be nice, but then she has no eye for these things and she's not overly concerned whether it is or it isn't.

Once she's done, Darcy has her turn for her bridesmaid dress, which she is thrilled about. Jane stays for a few minutes before making her excuses to leave. Pepper gives her a slight smile.

She walks the halls discreetly, checking first Bruce's room, then the balcony, living room, and kitchen. He is nowhere to be found, and she huffs, frustrated.

“Miss Foster?” Jarvis calls softly behind her. Jane forces herself not to jump, and turns to look at him. “May I be of help?”

She smiles. “I was just wondering if I was all alone here.”

“Dr Selvig is in his room,” Jarvis says, “and Mrs Stark and Miss Lewis are in the dressing room, of course.”

“Of course,” Jane echoes. 

“Mr Stark and Mr Banner departed for Madison Avenue an hour ago,” Jarvis adds impassively.

“I see,” Jane says, and tips her head to him. “I will retire to the library and read, then.”

“Of course,” Jarvis says. “Enjoy your afternoon, Miss Foster.”

“Thank you, Jarvis,” she says shortly and turns on her heel to leave.

-

Supper is served at eight pm and Jane and Darcy await the arrival of the men to escort them in. It's a ridiculous formality to go to for a casual meal among friends; Jane herself discarded it long ago in her own household.

Bruce and Anthony arrive a few minutes late, Anthony looking quite pleased with himself while Bruce blinks like an owl behind small round spectacles. Jane smiles and readies to extend her hand but before she can do so, Erik swoops in and takes her arm to guide her in. She eyes him and shakes her head. Behind them, Darcy says, “It seems I have the honour of your company this evening, Mr Banner,” with a laugh in her voice.

They have oysters again for appetisers, and Bruce looks pained as he careful prods at the shells. Jane can't help but laugh a little and Erik scowls at her. Bruce smiles at his plate. 

Casual conversation is made, mostly led by Anthony and Pepper. Erik is a perennial black cloud that turns even blacker when the subject of dress fittings comes up. Dessert in the drawing room is a similarly uncomfortable affair, and one by one excuses are made to leave for bed. Erik ensures that Jane leaves before Bruce does. She certainly will not put up with this sort of behaviour for much longer.

She waits until she's reasonably sure that Erik is no longer prowling the hallways, then slips back out, traversing the labyrinthine corridors until she finds Bruce's room. She taps lightly at the door and calls out, “Future husband?”

She hears rustling from the other side of the door for a few moments before it opens a little. Bruce has his shirt open to his waist, his jacket and waistcoat discarded, his suspenders hanging down to his knees. His chest hair is impressive. “Future wife,” he murmurs. 

“Are you going to let me in?”

“I'm getting undressed,” he says.

“I am sure that you harbour nothing beneath your clothes that I haven't seen before,” Jane says.

Bruce blinks a couple of times, then tightens his lips and opens the door wide enough that she may pass through it. He closes the door behind her and turns to stare at her for a long moment.

“You can carry on,” she says, “don't let my presence stop you. As I said, I've seen it all before.”

“You do have a way of making a man feel very unconfident.”

“Unconfident isn't a word,” she says. “I might make you feel uncertain, cowardly, shy, or meek, but not 'unconfident'.”

Bruce raises his eyebrows. “Thank you for the grammar lesson.”

“The first time is free,” she says, and Bruce laughs a little and shakes his head. “You're not wearing your spectacles.”

“No... my eyes feel sore from wearing them. What is your opinion on them? Because I'm sure you have one.”

Jane smiles rosily at him. “They are very... scholarly.”

“Oh? And what does that mean?”

She lifts her shoulders and sits down on his bed with a bounce. “I feel as if I am about to sit down to a lecture on Physics by a master.”

“As if you would ever sit down and listen to me,” Bruce says.

Jane tips her head to the side. “Are you going to continue to undress?”

Bruce sighs and continues to unbutton his shirt. “I don't know why you're so interested to see me undress if you've seen it all before.”

“I didn't mean to imply that I wouldn't like to see it again,” she says.

“Oh. Well... please close your eyes while I remove my trousers. I appear to be much shyer than you.”

“You certainly are,” she says, looking up at him.

“Jane,” he murmurs.

“Fine, fine,” she says, and puts her hand over her eyes. “I can see nothing.”

There's a long pause, as Bruce decides if she's telling the truth, she's sure, before she hears him resume undressing. She keeps her promise for a minute, which is really quite good, she thinks, before she slides her middle and forefingers apart. Bruce is standing with his back to her. He has shed his trousers and his shirts, his drawers gathered around his ankles, leaving him in only his undervest. His legs are solid, almost stocky, his thighs thick and strong. The swell of his behind is as impressive as his chest hair, and Jane shifts a little, cursing Darcy for showing her all that filthy pornography concerning flogging. Absolutely disgusting stuff. She presses her legs together.

There is, of course, also his penis, which she can see between his legs as he lifts his feet to kick the trousers away. She swallows down a squeak and closes her fingers again as Bruce turns to retrieve his nightshirt. A few minutes later, he tells her that she can open her eyes again. She knows that her face must be rosy now from the heat in her cheeks.

“I... left something in my room,” she says quickly, and stands up. “I'll be back soon.”

She hurries out of the room and back through the hallways to her own, to retrieve her little trinket. She opens up her case and removes the top two compartments filled with what's left of her mother's jewellery, and a third compartment full of her scribbled notes to reach a small toiletries bag that holds her treasure. She closes her hand around a small tin and hurries back out; she's almost completed her race when she comes upon Anthony.

“Oh!” She says, and smiles widely. “Anthony, hello.”

“Hello, Miss Foster,” Anthony says, tipping his head in greeting, a sly smile spreading across his face. He has a book held in his hand, but she can't see the title. “Was the dinner to your liking tonight?”

“Lovely,” she says. “You know how I love oysters.”

“I do know that. And the dessert, that was similarly pleasant?”

She contains a sigh. “Very pleasant, Anthony.”

“I am so glad, Jane. Well, I won't keep you from your evening any longer.” He holds the book out to her. “I'm sure you can give this to Bruce, just another from my library.”

She schools her face into blankness and reaches out; first with the occupied hand, then quickly switches to the other. The book is _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_.

“I think he'll like it,” Anthony says. “Have a good evening.”

“And you,” she says as he departs. 

She waits for him to leave her sight and his footsteps to fade away before walking again. Somehow Anthony is always aware of what everyone else is doing.

She slips back into Bruce's room without knocking. He looks up quickly from where he's sitting at his desk, fountain pen in hand.

“I thought perhaps you weren't coming back,” he says.

“Oh, don't worry, I always keep my promises. I met Anthony in the hall, he wanted me to give you this.” She hands the book to him and he looks it over for a second.

“Anthony was telling me about this one today,” he says. “I'm not sure why he felt the need to give it to me so urgently.”

“Has he given you many books?”

“Quite a few.” He smiles. “Anthony takes my education as a gentleman very seriously.”

“I see. Well...”

“Did you look while I was undressing?” Bruce asks. 

Jane opens her mouth, puffing herself up a little.

“Your face betrayed you,” he adds.

“The traitor,” she murmurs. “I must admit then that I did.”

Bruce nods and rubs his thumb over his eyebrow. “Did you... What was your opinion?”

“You have a very passable derriere.”

Bruce starts to go red himself, ducking his head for moment. “Thank you.”

She takes a few steps closer to his desk, lays down her tin, and flips it open. Bruce looks at it, this small rubber ring, and frowns.

“What...” He interrupts himself to swallow. “Is that?”

“Have you never seen one before?”

“I... No. I don't believe I have.”

“You could take a guess, I'm sure. A man with your medical training.”

Bruce looks at it again and clears his throat. “I think it's... a womb veil...”

“A Dutch cap,” she says, “no need for euphemisms. It's inserted--”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Bruce says quickly. He is turning a lovely shade of scarlet.

She places her hand on the table and leans in. He tips his head up to maintain eye contact with her. “Could you help me with my corset again?”

“I thought you said... Oh, I see.”

“Yes,” she says, and steps back. Bruce follows, standing up in a jerking fashion, and follows her away from the desk. She turns her back to him and twists her hand around to indicate to the buttons and loops. “Can you help a poor lady with her dress?”

Bruce clears his throat and she feels him begin to brush her hair aside before he pauses. She readies herself to bite out another sharp comment concerning his shy nature, but his fingers tickle against the back of her neck and her hair moves a little as he runs his fingers through it.

“You like my hair, Mr Banner?”

“Mmhm,” he murmurs. “Your curls are very...”

She bites her lip. “Words fail you?”

“I suppose so,” he says quietly, and slowly pull her hair to the side. 

He starts working on the buttons, his fingers fumbling at every other loop. She holds in a comment about him being inexperienced at this. When he's released all the buttons, she takes it off, letting it fall down her arms to be deposited on the floor. She reaches behind herself and loosens the ties of her skirts; they fall to her feet in a heap, and she glances behind herself to catch a glimpse of Bruce's face. He is watching her very intently. She moves to her camisole next and pulls it off over her head to add to the growing pile on the floor. Bruce takes a soft breath as she stands in front of him in her corset and slip.

“I think you remember this part,” she says.

“Yes,” he murmurs, and begins to loosen the strings. He takes a few minutes, gently pulling the lacing apart, his breath coming in warm puffs on the back of her neck. Once it's sufficiently loosened, she lets it drop to the floor and turns around to face him.

He looks down at her, his eyelashes fluttering every now and then as he blinks. It seems that she has to do everything.

She leans up and kisses him, grips her hand tight to his side, the material of his nightshirt collapsing between her fingers. She can feel the evidence of his attraction against her leg, so although he moves with all the certainty of an adolescent, she knows that isn't due to a lack of the necessary chemistry.

She presses her tongue between his lips and finally he opens his mouth and lifts his hand to her face. He buries his fingers in the hair that he so admires, and cups the back of her head. The kiss deepens until she feels it in her toes and the tips of her fingers. She urges him back towards the bed and pushes him down.

“Sit,” she says, and he does. Obedience is a nice quality in a husband, she feels.

She goes back to his desk and picks up the cap, bringing it back to the bed. She lies down and tugs her drawers down to her knees to insert it. Bruce coughs and looks away.

“There's no need to avert your eyes,” she says. The cap slides in easily and she lets her fingers linger for a few moments, exciting her.

“I'm not, I'm just...” 

“Admiring the wallpaper?” She sits up again and wipes her fingers on her leg. “At this point, one of us would normally be removing our undergarments.”

Bruce nods. “Yes, that's... how I remember it also.”

“So, you have done this before, I take it. Made the beast with two backs?”

“The beast...?” Bruce's brow furrows in confusion.

“Intercourse,” she says. “Have you never seen a production of _Othello_?”

“No...” he murmurs.

“One of Shakespeare's plays.”

“Yes, I know,” he says quickly.

“Good.” She bends to gather up the frilly hem of her chemise. “Well, I suppose the saying does go, 'ladies first'.”

“Have you done this before?” he says in a rush, before she can lift her hem any higher than her knees.

She straightens again. “This? Do you think me a virgin?”

Bruce's cheeks are quite the bright shade of pink now. “When you say it like that... But even someone as uneducated as me knows that we're meant to wait until after the wedding...”

“Ridiculous,” she says. “What if we don't compliment each other? I imagine that we'll have intercourse at least a few time over our term of marital bliss. I would like it to be a passable experience for the both of us.”

“That's... true,” he mutters.

“I'm glad we agree,” she says, and pulls her chemise off in one smooth movement. Bruce gulps audibly, which is really very sweet. She takes a few steps closer to him, until their knees touch, and takes a hold of his nightshirt. “Let me help you with that,” she says, and begins to free him of the material.

He allows it, lifting up to release it from under his legs, then lifting his arms for her to remove it completely. She drops the nightshirt to the floor and casts her gaze up and down his body. His chest hair is quite magnificent. She kisses him again, and he clasps clammy hands around her waist. So sweet.

She pushes him back onto the bed and follows to sit astride his hips and run her fingers through the coarse hair. Bruce issues a few grunts and rolls his hips up.

“Shh,” she murmurs, and runs her hand to his shoulder. “Unless you'd like Erik to burst in on proceedings.”

“Oof,” he murmurs, and drops his head back onto the bed. She leans in and kisses him again, and he presses his hands to her back, his rough skin dragging along her spine. She backs up until she feels his cock against her thicket of hair. She scoots backwards until he's pressed up against her. His girth is a pleasant introduction and she rocks back and forth, dropping her head forward, before sinking down on him.

Bruce grunts again and settles his callused hands on her hips. She rolls forward and he grasps harder, pressing her downwards for a moment, before releasing her hips and tangling his fingers into her hair. They meet again in a kiss, his fingers carding through her hair endlessly, their amorous clinch growing in intensity. Despite her quip about Erik, their mingled noises still reach a crescendo as their bodies do the same. The bed creaks quite furiously as she rides him to completion, the flutterings inside her becoming unbearably pleasurable before dissipating.

With some effort, she dismounts and rolls to lie beside Bruce, who is red-faced and breathing fast with exertion. She presses her hand to her stomach and arranges her legs to best offset the dripping between her thighs.

“That was passable,” she says.

Bruce chuckles. “It was.”

“We should get along fine in our marital bed.”

Bruce turns his head and looks at her. “Yes,” he says after a long moment's silence.

She smiles and begins the struggle of sitting up. “Well, I will leave you to your evening, Mr Banner.”

“You're leaving?” Bruce says, and follows her up.

She begins to gather her clothes from the floor, dressing as loosely and quickly as she can. “If Darcy finds that I've not been in my room over night, she'll make quite the to-do.”

“But...” Bruce murmurs, bringing his legs up to sit cross-legged. His hair is going every which way in a tangle of unruly curls. “Do you need to leave right away?”

“Well, there's no reason to delay it,” she says and pulls her dress on over her drawer and chemise, her camisole crumpled in her hand. She leans in and kisses him briefly on the mouth. “My absence will make your heart grow fonder. I'll see you for breakfast?”

“Okay,” Bruce says. His eyes seem to grow larger as he watches her departure.

She positively runs back to her room, disrobing as soon as she enters. She runs a shallow bath and freshens herself, removes the cap and returns it to its tin, and redresses for bed. It's been a time since she's engaged in relations, the previous being at King Odin's palace in Oslo, in the middle of the afternoon, when Erik proved himself to be quite lax in his chaperone responsibilities. She had fled from that room also, buttoning her blouse as she went. Thor had found it awfully amusing, but she thinks the same cannot be said for Bruce.

“Oh dear,” she murmurs, and lies down on her bed.

-

Anthony puts on a predictably sumptuous breakfast that the six of them eat in relative silence, only interspersed by various comments and grimaces from Anthony himself on the topic of the tension in the room. Bruce is withdrawn from proceedings, keeping his head lowered over his eggs and devilled kidney. It makes her feel quite terrible.

“I've just had a wonderful idea!” Anthony exclaims.

“Aren't all your ideas wonderful?” Jane says.

“Very true,” Anthony says. “Very true, my dear. I think we should all go to Coney Island and make a day of it.”

“Oh!” Darcy says, “we could go swimming! It's been so long since I've had the chance.”

Anthony claps his hands together. “Then it's settled!” Pepper silently turns her eyes to the heavens.

“I don't...” Bruce says quietly. “I don't have a bathing suit...”

“I'm sure I can lend you one of those, old boy,” Anthony says with an air of dismissal. Bruce face darkens a little, a milder version of Erik's red-faced fury. Anthony looks around at four unenthused faces and Darcy and nods definitively. “We'll have a day at the beach,” he decrees.

-

They set off in the afternoon in two automobiles of Anthony's own invention. Anthony drives one, Happy Hogan the other, with carts attached to the back of both to pull their beach-going necessities. Jane has known Happy for years, yet is still in the dark as to the origin of the name. He seems no more happy than any other, just as Virginia's resemblance to pepper is limited.

The automobiles shudder and squeal and chug out clouds of gasoline onto the road as they drive, a really hair-raising ride. She and Darcy and Erik share one, with Happy driving, while Anthony, Pepper, and Bruce ride alongside in the other. Anthony looks quite at home in his goggles, scarf flapping behind him in the breeze, the wheels bouncing several inches off the ground at regular intervals. Bruce looks white faced and sick.

He has barely turned his gaze towards her today and Darcy, the student of body language that she is, has not failed to notice.

“He seems upset,” she whispers in Jane's ear.

“Aren't you? This journey is terrifying,” Jane replies, and not a second later her bottom loses its seat for a moment as Happy struggles over gravel in the road. He calls back his apologies. She doesn't mind it so much, truth be told.

“I'm moments from soiling myself,” Darcy discloses, “but I suspect that is not the source of Mr Banner's upset, seeing as he was similarly sullen at breakfast.” 

“I'm sure I have no idea then,” Jane says.

“I'm sure,” Darcy echoes, turning her smug look back to the road.

They arrive at Coney Island relatively unscathed and collect their things from the carts. Bruce looks unsteady on his feet, and she lays a hand on his back as she passes. He offers her a brief smile.

There is much to do on the island, sideshows, carousels, steamboats, food, but Darcy is insistent on going directly to the beach, so they hurry to the changing booths and race to get dressed. Swimming has been a favourite activity of theirs since she taught Darcy to swim in the lake of their summer home in Buckinghamshire. When caught, Jane's mother felt sure that Darcy had led Jane to such disobedience, though Jane was eleven and Darcy only six. The ensuing punishment did not put either of them off swimming. 

Jane dresses in her blue and white bathing suit. It's one of her favourite outfits to wear, as the shorts of the suit leave her legs unencumbered by skirts and is as simple to put on as her drawers. Erik expressed his disapproval in the past at her immodest beach attire when she decided to no longer wear the typical wool dress and bloomers. Surely no one will die of viewing her legs.

Darcy thumps her fist on the adjoining wall of Jane's booth. Jane twists her hair into a knot atop her head, leaves her shoes, and races out of the booth after Darcy. Darcy has always been the faster runner, especially when she puts her mind to it, and she reaches the water first, diving in head first without a care. Jane crashes in after her, squealing with laughter, and swims out to Darcy. They are soon joined by Anthony in a striped monstrosity of a costume. He splashes both of them with water as he swims past like a bullet.

They play in the water for a while longer, before Jane comes to shore again, her hair soaked and stretching down to her thighs. Darcy and Anthony make no moves to leave the water.

Pepper, Erik, and Bruce have remained on the beach. Pepper has laid out a blanket and parasol and is sitting beneath it, reading a book, Erik is wading into the water at its most shallow ebb, and Bruce seems at a loose end, fidgeting his fingers together in a bathing suit that's a touch too small for him.

Jane approaches him with a smile. “Sorry,” she says, “I quite lose my head at the beach. Darcy's influence. I suppose I should collect my clothes for someone else does.”

“I got them,” Bruce says, “they're with Virginia.”

Jane smiles. “Thank you, Bruce.”

Bruce nods. “Would you like one of those... hot dogs?” He points to a stand at the edge of the beach.

“How unladylike,” Jane says. “I'd love one, thank you.”

They walk over to Pepper's parasol so that Bruce can collect his money for the food. Jane sits down on the sand beside her.

“Would you like a hot dog, Virginia?” Bruce asks.

Pepper looks up at him and blinks in seeming disbelief. “No,” she says firmly.

Bruce nods and heads towards the stand.

“I'm having one,” Jane says.

Pepper looks down her nose at her. “Yes, well from what I've heard, hot _dog_ might be an apropos name for the concoction.”

“I am sure it will be quite fine,” Jane says. “What are you reading?”

“ _The Defence of a Fool_.”

“Oh, is his name Erik?”

Pepper tuts. “He cares for you greatly, Jane. He might not have read his copy of _A Vindication on the Rights of Woman_ very closely but he is doing his best to look after you.”

“I don't need anyone to look after me.”

“You and I know that, but men, you know, they take a while to catch on with these things.”

Jane laughs and looks over at Bruce. He is at the end of the line. “What do you think of Anthony's scheme for myself and Mr Banner?”

Pepper sighs and lays her book down in her lap. “I try to think about his schemes as little as possible. Bruce seems like a nice man; hardly a gentleman in the common sense, but naturally polite and respectful. I am sure he will treat you well.”

“I think I want more than to be treated well,” Jane says. “Was that all you wanted from Anthony?”

Pepper looks at her gently. “Anthony defied his guardian's wishes in marrying me; Stane had arranged for a marriage to the daughter of an art dealer. Anthony and I lived in California for years because of this, until Stane died. We were very much in love.”

Jane lets her eyebrows go up in surprise. She had always thought that the union between Anthony and Pepper was a society marriage, though a successful one; Pepper's light disdain for Anthony's antics led her to the conclusion. “Why did I never know that?”

Pepper shrugs her shoulders. “You never asked.”

“I suppose not... What if I want that great love as well?”

Pepper smiles gently. “I don't know, Jane. That's something you will need to meditate on.”

A shadow passes over the two of them, and she finds Bruce standing over them when she looks up He's holding two of the suspect hot dogs. Jane pulls herself up and brushes as much wet sand off herself as possible. She casts her gaze about for Erik, who is now swimming in the sea, his attention diverted.

“Let's take a walk along the shore while we eat,” she says, and looks back down at Pepper. “If Erik asks my whereabouts...”

“I haven't seen you,” Pepper says.

Jane smiles and takes the offered hot dog from Bruce. They set off on their walk, weaving between excitable little children darting in and out of the waves, eating in silence. It's an enjoyably greasy meal, despite Pepper's misgivings.

“Have you...” Bruce begins slowly. “Have you had a hot dog before?”

She smiles. “Of course I have. Do you really think me that much of a princess?”

Bruce shrugs. “You seem to care more for oysters.”

“There's a time and a place for oysters just as there is a time and place for hot dogs. Hot dogs would hardly be appropriate at the Starks' dinner table.”

“Oysters should be appropriate nowhere,” Bruce says, with such force that Jane giggles. Bruce tips the corner of his mouth up and looks out at the rolling waves. The sky is beginning to get overcast, but the air is still warm.

“Let's go for a swim,” she says, and takes his hand. Bruce blinks at her, then shakes his head.

“I'm fine,” he says.

“You're on the beach and bone-dry,” Jane says. “That is practically a crime.” She tugs his hand, wading into the shallow water. “Just a little dip?”

“No,” he says, and pulls his hand away.

She frowns as he turns his face from her; then it comes to her. “Oh,” she says, “you can't swim, can you?”

He murmurs something, still turned from her. She takes his hand again, then the other, and pulls him into the water. He follows, with a reluctant smile.

“You're doing fine so far,” she says.

“I'm not scared of being in the water,” he replies, “I just... can't go in deep water.”

“I'll help you,” she promises and draws him further in. 

She convinces him to come so far that the water reaches his waist before it becomes noticeably more rough and a wave knocks her off balance. She pulls Bruce down with her and he struggles for a moment with his head underwater, until she takes him by the shoulders and pulls him up.

“Perhaps you'll need more than one lesson,” she says.

Bruce pushes wet hair from his forehead and laughs. “Perhaps.”

“I'm sure you'll learn quickly,” she says, and kisses him briefly on the lips.

-

She sleeps well that night, worn from the day's activities, safe in the knowledge that Bruce is not entirely furious with her. Rain on her window lulls her into a deep sleep, dreams of water and dresses and corsets filling her mind.

She is woken at four in the morning and passes a few unknowing seconds, lying comfortably in her bed, before an almighty noise from outside her window rouses her completely. She shoots from her bed and throws back the curtains. The scene that meets her eyes takes her breath away; rain is coming down like the very heavens themselves have opened, the sky is darker than it has any right to be, twigs, stones, and God knows what else hit the glass, and through the rain she can make out the trees of the grounds blowing at alarmingly diagonal angles.

A hurricane, she realises.

She takes her gown from the door and secures it around herself, then runs from her room, hammering her fist on Darcy's door as she passes.

“Jane!” Darcy calls, following her out. “What's going on?”

“It's a hurricane! Wake everyone up!”

She turns down the hallway towards Anthony and Pepper's room, and meets with Bruce as he comes out of his room.

“The weather, it's--”

“A hurricane,” she confirms, and takes his hand to continue her journey.

Anthony bursts out of the room before she can reach it and rushes past them. He runs to the stairs and hurries down them. Jane tugs on Bruce's hand and follows. “Edwin!” Anthony shouts. “Edwin!”

Jarvis appears at the bottom, showing uncharacteristic anxiety in the wringing of his hands.

“Is anyone outside?”

“A few of the maids are bringing pails in from the yard.”

“Pails?” Anthony cries. “The pails don't matter!”

They meet with a chaotic scene as they enter the kitchen, maids running hither and thither. Anthony runs to the back door and wrenches it open, yelling out into the storm for errant maids to come inside.

“The dogs are out there too, sir!” one of the maids inside says. “They're tied up!”

“Damn it!” Anthony snaps and runs outside to fetch them. Jane comes to the door to peer out after; she has let go of Bruce's hand but still feels him at her back.

“Where's Anthony?” Pepper calls from the door of the kitchen. Her hair is like a bird's nest atop her head, a scene that her pride would never normally let anyone see.

“He went outside to fetch everyone in,” Jane calls back.

Pepper doesn't pass comment on it, but her face betrays her concern.

Girls soaked from head to foot rush past Jane back into the kitchen, and moments later a lead is thrust into her hand, followed by two others. The dogs seem enlivened by the whole affair and pull hard on their chains. Bruce takes the leads from her and drags them into the kitchen.

“Anna?” Jarvis calls. “Anna! Where's Anna?”

“She went back to your house, sir,” a maid says.

Jarvis's eyes go round and he races out the door. She hears him call out to Anthony that they have to find Anna.

“Who's Anna?” Bruce asks, having passed the dogs off to another maid. 

“Jarvis's wife,” she says, “they have a separate house in the grounds.”

Bruce comes back to the door and lays his hand on her shoulder. A few minutes later, Anna bustles into the house in a raincoat and hat, without Jarvis and Anthony.

“Anna, where have you been?” Jane asks.

Anna gestures out the door. “I was closing the shutters on the cottage, it seems we're going to have a hurricane.” She looks around the kitchen for a moment. “Where's Edwin?”

“He and Anthony went out to find you.”

Anna look out the door. “Oh dear,” she murmurs.

“They'll come back in...” Bruce says, but Jane is not sure that they will, not without finding Anna first. Trees sway ominously outside and she can hear the many groans and cracks of branches threatening to fall.

She nods to herself, takes hold of the bottom of her nightie, and runs out into the rain in her slippers. She is soaked through immediately, the water a shock despite having watched it come down. The wind, however, is unimaginably strong, nearly carrying her away like a leaf. Bruce yells her name but she persists, holding her hand over her eyes like the brim of a hat to better see where she is going. She is not certain of the direction of the Jarvis's cottage, but she believes it to be north, and struggles forward against the gale.

“Jane!” Bruce calls again, closer this time and soon at her back again. “What are you doing?”

“I'm getting Anthony and Jarvis before a falling tree kills them!”

“A falling tree may kill us too!” he says, and wraps his arm around her waist as a gust of wind threatens to lift them off their feet.

“Then we'll have to be quick about it! This way!”

She puts her head down and fights through the rain, hair plastered to her forehead and neck. The further into the grounds they get, the better she can see the rising clouds around them. She stops, despite the obvious dangers, and stares up at it. It's as if they're surrounded by an avalanche of cloud, the most incredible sight she has ever behold. She has always been fascinated by storms, would run around the gardens as a child when the rain fell in sheets on rainy English afternoons, would stay up all night and count lightning strikes until lulled to sleep by the thunder.

This, however, is better than she could ever have hoped. She would stay here all night if common sense didn't prevail.

In the distance, she sees dark shapes and begins to wave her arms wildly. “Anthony, Jarvis!”

The shapes draw closer, until she can recognise them. “Anna is inside!” she shouts.

“What?” Anthony yells back.

“Anna. Is. Inside!” Jane yells loudly and clearly.

They catch her meaning and all four hurry inside; Anthony and Bruce struggle to drag the door closed behind them, and in the kitchen everyone begins to talk at once, overlapping admonishments coming from every direction.

Anthony holds up a hand to silence everyone. “Is everyone inside?” He looks around the room and narrows his eyes. “Where's Happy? Where is Happy? _Happy!_ ” he all but shrieks.

The door to the backstairs opens and Happy peers his head out. “Sir? I was taking some supplies down to the basement.”

“Very good,” Anthony says tightly. “Everyone in the basement, _now_.”

The basement is split between Anthony's sprawling wine cellar, and the servants' quarters, which are far more extensive than any she's seen before, certainly more than the quarters in her childhood home. They have the common servants' hall, a separate living room, a small kitchen, and bedrooms separated between men and women. The maids give the four of them dry clothes to change into, fetch them hot cocoa, and lead them back out to the living room.

“I see my discarded furniture has been of use,” Anthony says, looking around at the eclectic arrangement of ornate chairs and couches.

“You did say they could do what they wanted with the old furniture, sir,” Jarvis says, his tone suggesting joviality, but his eyes still worried.

“I swear you all keep notes on the things I've said over the years, just to use them back to me.”

“We have meetings, as well,” Pepper says. She sits down beside him in her gown and takes his hand.

“My suspicions have proven true, then,” he says softly.

Jane smiles and looks at Bruce beside her. A maid gave her a blanket but Bruce is shivering and she is not, so she takes it from her shoulders and puts it around his. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and draws it closer.

“Jane,” Erik says, all of a sudden looming over them.

She sighs. “Yes, Erik?”

“We need to speak about you running out into the storm.”

“Do we,” she says, without intonation.

“Yes. It was irresponsible and you could have been killed. It's not your place--”

Her righteous soul bristles at that. “My _place_?”

“Yes, to play rescuer to grown men. It was a foolish decision, you are a foolish girl sometimes, and he is not rectifying the situation.” 'He', of course, is Bruce, roughly pointed at by Erik, and Jane feels an implosion of fury inside her.

“I will not have this any more, Erik!” she snaps, loud enough to silence the other conversations in the room. “I won't listen to a second more of your childish, sullen, mean-spirited comments. I will marry whom I want, when I want, without your permission and without your comment.” She stands up and points a finger at him. “You act as if you are my father, but you would do well to remember that you are _not_ my father and you have lived off my family's good will for too many years to become an authoritarian.”

With her piece thoroughly said and the room entirely silent, she turns on her heel and leaves. She storms into the wine cellar and sits on a chair to ruminate on her lot. How dare he lecture her on place as a woman, which she is far more aware of than he. She is under no illusion that it is considered foolish and even shocking for her to dabble in delusions of heroism, where it would be lauded in a man. She knows her place, she simply doesn't accept it.

A soft knock at the door diverts her attention.

“Come in,” she calls. She supposes the wine cellar will prevent too much of her voice escaping if Erik is returning for round two.

Bruce steps carefully into the room. “How are you feeling?”

“Mildly furious,” she says and smiles.

“I assumed.” He walks to her and she tips her head back to look at him. “Erik does care for you.”

“Yes, I am aware of that, thank you,” she says shortly, and regrets the shortness immediately. “Sorry. I've just grown weary of his attitude these past few days.”

“You're not the only one,” Bruce murmurs. “You were ten when your father passed, if I recall correctly?”

She is somewhat surprised that he recalls at all. And she sees what he's getting at. “Yes, and when I was young it was a comfort to have Erik present, a man so close to us, so like a second father. It was a comfort to my mother also.” She pauses and looks at Bruce.

He blinks. “Ah. I see.”

She smiles for a moment, then sighs. Erik still mourns her mother's passing, just as Jane does, she shouldn't lose sight of that. “But these last years, he has become so terribly overbearing, and he has reached his peak these last few days. Frankly, I resent being lectured to about my ability or lack there of to behave like a proper lady.”

“That was clear,” Bruce says.

She sighs again. “I have been told repeatedly that I will mature out of this mindset, or risk becoming anathema to men.”

“You're not anathema,” he says, and crouches down beside her. “Not at all.”

“You're sweet to say that,” she says.

He lays his hand gently on her cheek. “I mean it. What was that quote, 'I may have the body of a woman, but I have the mind of a...'”

“'I know I have the body of a weak, feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm; to which rather than any dishonour shall grow by me, I myself will take up arms, I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field.' So sayeth Queen Elizabeth.”

He drops his head and chuckles. “You do make me feel stupid sometimes.”

“I could go on, you know. My governess nearly beat that into me. I can quote you the entire speech.”

Bruce leans in and roundly kisses her, tightening his fingers in her hair. She places her hand on his neck and returns his kiss happily. The wind outside howls and shakes the walls, a lovely backdrop for such a kiss. When she removes her lips from his, his eyes are closed and only reopen when she runs her finger along his eyebrow.

“I suppose we should rejoin the others,” she says.

“I suppose so,” he agrees, though his expression is not a little disappointed.

The tension remains thick, the atmosphere icy, once they return to the servants' hall. The servants seem uncomfortable around them, understandably, and most disappear into the many other rooms the basement has on offer to them. Only Happy, Jarvis, and Anna remain, conversing mainly with Anthony and Pepper. 

They play games to pass the time, she and Bruce and Darcy; Erik remains withdrawn. A maid lends them a deck of cards and Bruce seems excited at the prospect of teaching her poker. Jane, of course, though recalling Erik's advice on not always flaunting her superior intelligence to that of a man, cannot help but to inform him that she knows her to play and how to play well.

“My education was well-rounded, Mr Banner,” she says.

Bruce sighs. “I see.”

She wins, of course, and then Darcy shows them both how to play tiddlywinks.

At eight in the morning, four hours after they took refuge, the wind worsens so terribly that they can all feel the vibrations and hear windows smashing. She wishes she were able to watch the full majesty of the storm, but of course they would all yell at her if she stole back up to the main house. 

Bruce turns quite pale at the noises, however, and she gently lays her hand over his, angling her body to block the movement from view. He twitches the corners of his mouth up.

The rest of the day passes tediously. They are confined to a few rooms, and although there is a kitchen and plenty of food, there is little else to do. There are a few books, though Jane has read them all, and games lose their charm by the early afternoon. Conversation is thin on the ground also, and though they stay near each other, she and Bruce speak very little, so as to not raise the ire of Erik.

Even by the evening the others still do not deem it safe to venture back upstairs and so despite protestations, a few of the servants give up their beds for the night. It is very kind of them, though Jane is of the opinion that there would be little difference between sleeping on these mattresses and sleeping on the hard floor. But she mustn't be ungrateful.

She finds that the only way she can settle is on her side, and reads by candlelight. Outside the wind howls like a scene from a gothic novel, audible even here without a window, encased in the soil and foundations of the house.

There is a tapping at her chamber door.

She looks over her shoulder and smiles. “Come in,” she calls.

The door creaks open and Bruce peers inside. “Were you sleeping?”

“Nearly napping,” she says and sits up.

He blinks. “You can sleep with this noise?”

“Yes. I find it quite soothing, in fact.”

“Only you,” he says, shaking his head.

“I am singular, that's true.”

“Exceedingly singular,” he agrees before trailing off. He remains at the door like a loose thread.

“Bruce,” she says. “Would you care to join me?”

“In your bed?” he murmurs. At her nod, he twists his mouth. “Will anyone come in?”

She shakes her head. “Only you are so impertinent as to come to a slumbering lady's room.”

His worried expression clears. “Of course,” he says, and crosses the room to bed down beside her.

“I recommend you sleep on your side,” she says, “otherwise it is quite unworkable.”

The bed is not only as hard as the floor, it is also as narrow as she has even been in; after some hesitation, Bruce presses in close to her back and lays his arm along her waist.

She rearranges the covers about them. “If you become excited in the night, please roll over, I need my rest.”

A soft breath of laughter blows across the back of her neck. “Of course, my lady.”

She sleeps easily to the sounds of the howling and whistling, and so does Bruce, close as he is to her now. They only awake when the door creaks open. Jane stirs faster than Bruce, and looks over him to the door.

“The storm appears to be over,” Darcy says, then pauses, her eyes flickering between the two of them. Bruce turns his head blindly towards the source of the noise. “Ah. I see. I'll give the both of you some time to compose yourselves and flee,” she says, curtsies, and closes the door again.

“Was that...?”

“I'm afraid it was,” she says, and sits up. Bruce rolls over onto his back with a sigh. “Don't fret, she won't tell anyone, just mercilessly tease us about it.”

Bruce grimaces slightly, but the look is wiped away when she places a soft kiss on his lips.

She dresses again in the simple clothes lent to her by the maid; she finds she enjoys the lack of affectation, the ease of dressing. It takes her only a few minutes to dress and join the others to venture back into the house. 

The kitchen door held against the wind, but the windows smashed under the pressure and the kitchen floor is awash with rain water and other detritus. She steps outside with Anthony and Bruce, brushing away Erik's protests with a shake of her head and is struck dumb by the sheer damage that faces with them. Trees have been ripped entirely from the ground, roots like long tentacles trailing after the trunks.

The manor has been spared any damage further than broken windows, but as they approach Jarvis's cottage, they find the same cannot be said. Indeed, a tree has made its home squarely on top of the small dwelling.

“Ah,” Jarvis says, when he comes upon it.

“I suppose closing the shutters made little difference,” Anna adds with a sigh.

“Have the maids prepare you a room, Jarvis,” Anthony says.

Jarvis nods. “That's very kind of you, sir.”

“I am very kind,” Anthony agrees.

Jane and Bruce both roll their eyes.

The devastation is similarly terrible in the park, and she's sure beyond it but they don't venture any further into the city. Jane is called to return to the house and change out of her comfortable dress and into something complicated and constricting, then join the others for a sedate breakfast. The bedrooms upstairs are in as much a disarray as the downstairs, the floors covered in a mixture of water, glass, and ceramic from smashed lamps and vases, and she has to tiptoe through the glass in her slippers before locating her shoes. 

“We'll begin repairs tomorrow,” Pepper decrees when they sit down to breakfast.

“What of the wedding?” Anthony asks.

“We may need to delay by a few days. We'll hope for the best.”

Erik mutters something under his breath which is roundly ignored.

Pepper sniffs. “I'll have the seamstress come in tomorrow to finish the alterations.”

“Oh, that reminds me, Bruce,” Anthony says. “We'll have to pay a visit to the tailor tomorrow, see that his shop hasn't been washed away.” He says it jovially, but it occurs to Jane that there's a real chance of that being the case.

There is little to do for the rest of the day. The servants begin their work on clearing the glass and broken items, cleaning the carpets, and boarding up the windows. Jane repairs to the library, which has thankfully been spared the damage of the rest of the house, the windows simply cracked but not smashed.

She selects _Middlemarch_ and settles down in a chair. She is able to pass nearly an hour in peace before she hears footsteps at the door. She looks up, a biting word on her tongue, but it's only Darcy.

“Oh, hello,” she says.

“Hello...” Darcy dips her head to peer at Jane's book. “Dorothea.”

Jane sighs and looks down at her book. Darcy spends a few minutes at the bookcase, then sits in the chair across from Jane. She has chosen _The Federalist_ , and Jane rolls her eyes; she can't imagine anything so dull as that. Darcy, however, can only contain herself for a few minutes before taking a deep breath. Jane prepares herself.

“I won't even ask about last night. You are a lady of majority who has read enough naughty books to know how to comport yourself.”

“Darcy,” Jane says.

She holds up a hand. “Let me continue, please.” Jane almost laughs, so put in mind of her governess. “All I'd like to ask you is if you've been entirely open with him.”

“Of course I have. He knows about my fortune, or lack thereof, about my parents, and Erik, and the men that have gone before him.”

Darcy hums. “Yes, but have you told him...” She trails off, tipping her head slightly.

“You think that really matters?” It really hadn't occurred to her until now that she would have to tell him about a part of herself that is so small that she often forgets about it altogether. “It's never been a problem before.”

“You've always stayed within the tribe before.”

“Thor wasn't--”

“Thor was different, a very different man to most. Do you know what Bruce is?”

Jane thinks; he told her about the poorhouse, about his propensity to be involved in others' limb-losing accidents, his lost love, but that's all that she can recall. “I'm not sure. He grew up in a poorhouse, so maybe nothing at all. It seems that they were only concerned with working the children until they bled. Besides, this is America, they're much more used to us here than in England.”

Darcy shrugs. “You never know how goyim will react.”

“Oh please, Darcy,” Jane says, rolling her eyes. “ _Goyim_? You'll be fasting for twenty five hours and foregoing bathing for Yom Kippur this year, I suppose?”

“There's no need to be like that, I am only suggesting that you assess the full measure of this man. Would you prefer to keep it hidden for the rest of your life?”

“I am hiding nothing,” Jane says, and closes her book with a snap. “And frankly I object to the suggestion that--”

Darcy waves a hand. “Your righteousness makes no impression on me, you should know that by now.”

Jane deflates into her chair. Fury and righteousness are her two strongest qualities. “I'll speak with him.”

“While he's lying supine, preferably,” Darcy murmurs. Jane kicks her in the shin.

-

They eat and they sleep in rooms with boarded up windows, the cold biting at the small amount of her skin visible beneath her blankets. She doesn't mind it but finds herself sneezing in the morning. Her pseudo-illness is enough to divert her attention from the conversation she promised Darcy she would have with Bruce, but by the afternoon, she is well again.

“Jane, the seamstress will be here soon,” Pepper says while Jane is drinks a little tea to soothe the last of her sore throat.

“Oh, very good!” Jane says, smiling widely.

Darcy narrows her eyes.

It's no matter that Jane is being dreadfully insincere in regards to her excitement over the seamstress, because only a few minutes later the men depart for the tailor; Bruce, Anthony, and Jarvis, that is. Erik is still boycotting the whole affair.

The seamstress pokes her a few more times than Jane thinks is reasonable as she does the last of the adjustments on the dress. It has more than 'some' beading on the bodice, but she can't deny that it's a beautiful dress. She looks beautiful in it.

“Well, it'll do,” she murmurs.

“Honestly, if it's not a star, you're just left cold, aren't you?” Darcy says. She is near slavering over her maid of honour dress still in its protective cover on the couch. Pepper too has been fitted for a dress for the occasion, though she isn't technically a bridesmaid.

“A wedding dress is worn for a single day, not even that; it's hardly comparable to a universe of stars.”

Darcy sighs but drops the conversation. Jane's sure she's decided it's too much trouble.

The dining room is prepared for supper once the men arrive home, and this time she makes sure that Erik doesn't swoop in, by seeking Bruce out and bringing him to the dining room door, their arms firmly linked.

“How was your visit to the tailor?” she murmurs.

“I was poked and prodded and _touched_ everywhere,” he says with a grimace.

She nods. “I have several pinprick scars along my body from an overzealous seamstress.”

Bruce looks down at her and smiles. “We've suffered.”

“We have.”

They sit down to soup followed by roast turkey. They mainly discuss the ravages of the hurricane; many houses have been damaged, or even destroyed, and Hog Island has been washed away entirely, according to Anthony. His tailor had wooden boards nailed over his window, but the clothes were safely stored in the basement.

“More sailors have died, I saw in the paper,” Anthony says. The newspaper was not delivered to the house as normal, and Jane hates feeling so cut off. “There are scows missing, the authorities are assuming the worst. I'm going to help with the search tomorrow.”

“That's very good of you,” Erik says.

It's a surprise to hear him speak; Jane wouldn't have been awfully surprised to find that he had turned mute.

“Yes,” she agrees, “very good.”

Dessert is rushed and they all turn in for bed without much discussion. She begins the process of dressing for bed, but hasn't even freed herself of her blouse before there comes a knock at her door. She forgoes the refastening of her blouse, and opens the door a crack to greet her guest.

Bruce smiles back at her.

“You're becoming quite bold, Mr Banner,” she says.

“I'm a quick study.” He inclines his head towards the door. “May I come in?”

“Why, of course,” she says, and steps aside. Bruce slips in and she closes the door again, turns on her heel, and smiles up at him. “Are you all ready now? Properly attired?”

“Very much so,” he says. “At the risk of sounding immodest, I am sure I shall turn some heads.” He says it precisely, mockingly, but she takes no offence in it. Bruce's smile crinkles the edges of his eyes. “And yourself?”

“I'll do,” she says, “though surely I'll be no match for you in your finest.”

“Surely,” he echoes, and takes her chin in his hand carefully. “We had another stop on our trip.”

“Oh?”

Bruce nods, his cheeks beginning to pink. “We stopped at a jewellers,” he says, and produces a small ring box from his pocket.

“I see,” she says.

Bruce opens the box and takes out a gold ring with a single opal in the centre. It's beautiful. “May I?” he says in a small voice, indicating to her hand. 

She holds out her left hand, fingers spread, and Bruce slips it on her finger. It fits perfectly.

“Fits like a glove,” she says. “How did you know?”

“We might have had a co-conspirator with access to your jewellery box.”

“Of course,” she says. She admires the ring for a moment, and sighs.

“Do you like it? I thought it seemed a little different from the rest of the diamonds and rubies he had, just like you.”

“At the beginning of the century, opals were believed to bring bad luck,” she says, because of course she can never help but be a terrible show off.

Bruce's face falls. “Oh, I didn't... know...”

She lays her ringed hand over his. “I was only making fun.”

“You like it?”

“Very much,” she says, and leans up to kiss him. “But there is something I need to speak with you about.”

His eyes immediately drift down to her abdomen. She rolls her eyes and laughs.

“You men, you swear nothing else happens in a woman's body except for _that_. No, it is completely unrelated to biological matters. Let's sit.”

Bruce nods and allows her to lead him to the bed. He sits first and she smooths down her skirts to join him. She rests her hand on his knee.

“Bruce, do you subscribe to a certain religion?”

His brow furrows. “I haven't been into a church for years, but I suppose my family was Catholic.”

“I assumed as much. I, on the other hand, am Jewish,” she says with significance, a dramatic flair that her governess always told her was unseemly for a lady.

He blinks. “Oh.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“How should I feel?” He says it with such utter confusion that she feels her heart swell.

“Well, many go-- gentiles have strong views about the ruinous effect of the Judaic people on good Christian communities.”

He narrows his eyes in thought. “Am I a gentile?” is his first question.

“A non-Jew, yes.”

“I see. Well, I'm no good Christian. Just a vagrant.”

She lifts her hands to his shoulders. “And a very respectable vagrant you are too,” she says, and strokes a hand up his neck. He tips his head to the side. “If I may give you counsel,” she continues, “I believe it would be safer if you remained here tonight, so as not to bring shame upon me, should you get caught fleeing.”

He leans his forehead against hers. “I would lay down and die before bringing shame upon you, so I suppose I'll have to stay.”

“An absolute must,” she murmurs, and presses her mouth to his.

-

When a second hurricane rolls in from Georgia, it's frankly old hat, and they all spend a leisurely evening in the basement. Later, Bruce steals into her borrowed room and proves himself quite sinful in the use of his mouth.

The wedding is postponed by only one day, moved from Wednesday to Thursday, mainly due to the pastor finding himself in the predicament of having neither a viable place to live nor to work after the two hurricanes have ravaged the city. In place of the festivities on Wednesday, Pepper announces that they're going to hold a ball.

“Dancing,” Bruce says over breakfast on Tuesday morning. 

“That is generally what takes place at a ball, yes,” Anthony replies. “I am sure Jane can instruct you.”

“To the extent that modesty permits,” she says, lifting her chin. Bruce coughs softly and turns his gaze to his plate of fruit.

“What do I wear to a ball? Will we need to... go back to the tailor?” 

Pepper shakes her head. “There isn't time for that. We will find something of Anthony's that will suffice. Similarly, Jane, Darcy, we will look through my wardrobe today and find something to your tastes.”

“Surely anything of yours will be far too long on either of us, Pepper,” Jane replies. She would as soon not attend a ball, but she is sure something like an ill-fitting dress will not stop Pepper.

And she is proven correct. “Don't worry, I am quite handy with a sewing machine.”

Jane contains a sigh. “Of course.”

“Well, _I'm_ excited,” Darcy trills.

-

Pepper takes them up to her grand wardrobe full of dresses, a whole room full of frills and silk. Pepper gestures to the racks.

“Choose whatever you like.”

Darcy takes the offer on its face, rifling through each dress to find the perfect one. Jane locates a pale green gown and is done with it. Her dress, and the velvet, ivory dress that Darcy chooses both need fairly extensive alterations. Pepper lays them over her arm and leads Jane and Darcy to a smaller room off the wardrobe that holds a sewing machine. 

Jane's dress needs to be shortened, and Darcy's dress needs to both be shortened and let out in the bust. Darcy is predictably smug.

“Won't this make your dresses unwearable afterwards?” Jane asks.

Pepper waves a hand. “I have plenty more.”

She works the sewing machine with ease while Jane and Darcy sit on a couch. Jane never learnt how to sew very well, her mother and her governess both actively discouraged becoming too familiar with lower class pursuits. It is regretful, given her current financial status, leaving her quite reliant on Darcy's expertise.

“Where did you learn how to sew so well? My mother didn't consider it seemly.”

Pepper smiles slightly, keeping her eyes on the dress. “I suppose you don't know. Jane, you remember I told you that Anthony went against his guardian's wishes in marrying me?”

“Of course,” Jane says.

“Well, the reason it was such a scandal was because I was the housekeeper.”

“The _house_ keeper?” Jane repeats.

“I have a background rather more similar to Bruce's than your own, Jane.”

“Or mine,” Darcy says.

“Yes, exactly.” Pepper lifts her eyes to Jane, taking her foot off the sewing machine pedal. “Does that surprise you?”

“Well, I... Yes, frankly. You always seemed as if you came from money, I was never told otherwise.”

“As you say, some things aren't seemly.”

Jane clears her throat; spoken back to her, her words seem quite dismissive. “I meant no offence,” she says.

“And I took no offence.” Pepper starts up the machine again with a smile.

An hour later, they have two beautiful and beautifully fitting gowns for the ball. Darcy looks rather more ornate than Jane in her velvet dress, but she has never been to a ball before as a participant, only as a lady's maid. It wouldn't have been... seemly to bring her as a guest to the few balls that Jane attended in London. This is her chance to take centre stage, and Jane is happy to give it her.

She wiles away the rest of the day as usual and after dinner waits in her room for a knock at the door that she feels sure will come. She is vindicated; just after eleven, there's a short knock at the door, her paramour standing on the other side, clutching a book.

“Virginia gave me this,” he says as he passes by her into the room. Jane follows and takes the book from his hand. _Rules of Etiquette & Home Culture_, she remembers it well.

“I've been trying to get my head around this all day,” Bruce says in a defeated tone, and sits down on her bed. “ _What_ is a quadrille?”

She smiles and puts the book aside on her dresser. “A very tedious choreographed dance, don't concern yourself with it.”

Bruce nods. “Anthony was out most of the day with his military friends looking for survivors; Jarvis attempted to show me some simple dances, but my feet are useless.”

“I am sure your feet are fine, perhaps Jarvis was not the most attractive dancing partner.”

“I am sure that Anna would disagree.”

“I am sure you're avoiding the subject. Stand up.”

Bruce does as he's bid. She steps closer to him and takes his right hand. “This hand goes here,” she says, and lays it on the dip of her waist, then takes his left hand in her rigt, and continues, “and my left hand goes here,” as she rests her hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, Jarvis covered this part,” he murmurs. “Now I have to step forward with my...”

“Left foot.”

“Yes,” he repeats.

“Go on, I'll follow.”

He steps forward carefully and she nods. “Now, with your right foot, move it forward and to the right.” She begins the step before him, pulling him along after her; he watches his feet carefully. “Put your weight on your right foot and slide your left over until your feet are together again. Try to look up.”

He looks up at her and slides his feet together with a clack. She would admonish him for that, but she is sure that is the least of his problems in regards to dancing. “Follow my steps,” she says, and begins to lead him around her bedroom floor while remaining in the follower position.

“Try _not_ to step on my feet,” she says, after he catches her toes for the fourth time.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters. “Can we stop? I'm not sure I'll ever understand this.”

She stills, lets go of his hand, but keeps her other on his shoulder. “Don't fret, I took lessons for years and am still only mediocre at best.”

He laughs. “Nothing about you is mediocre, Jane.”

She smiles and glances away. “Thank you, Bruce.”

“It's my pleasure,” he murmurs, then clears his throat. “I'll leave you be tonight, I have a lot more studying to do to trick everyone into thinking that I'm a gentleman.”

She sees him back to the door, reluctantly, and pecks him on the cheek. “Good luck,” she calls softly.

-

The day of a ball is always fraught with stress, last minute adjustments and arrangements, orchestral disasters, and other maladies. Darcy dons her dress early, flouncing around Jane's room as Jane attempts to read a book.

“I do hope I don't make a fool of myself, I have so little experience with dancing,” Darcy says. “I've been to so few. Nor even had my very own cotillion.”

“Yes, Darcy,” Jane says with a sigh, “you are the most put upon young lady in New York.”

Darcy curtseys. “Thank you for recognising that.”

The guests begin arriving at six, ladies to the dressing room, gentlemen to the gentlemen's apartments. Make up is applied, hair is styled and fashioned, and Jane feels like quite the Christmas turkey once the maids have finished their work. They retire to the sitting room to wait for the commencement of the dance, and Pepper begins her introductions.

“Jane, Darcy, I'd like to introduce the two of you to Lady Margaret Carter.”

“We have met, Lady Carter,” Jane says, extending her hand and tipping her head down in respect. Margaret is the daughter of an Earl, a very respectable woman who splits her time between London and New York, who by all accounts married far beneath her, to an Irish-American infantryman.

“At your débutante ball, yes. I was sorry to hear about your mother.”

“Thank you, Lady Carter.”

Lady Carter smiles. “There's no need to be so formal, please call me Peggy. That goes for the both of you, Miss...”

“Lewis,” Darcy says, “Darcy Lewis.”

“Very pleased to make your acquaintance,” Peggy says, and shakes her hand.

“And this is Maria Hill, she's a journalist with _The Massachusetts Spy_ ,” Pepper says, introducing a tall, pale woman with a shock of dark hair and high cheekbones. Good breeding, Jane's mother would have said.

“Hello,” Maria says, and extends a hand. Jane takes it graciously, though Maria exudes an aura of cold distance. “I hear you are soon to be married.”

“Yes, in less than a day, now.”

Maria smiles, and Jane thinks it's sincere. “Well, congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Jane says with a tip of her head.

The ball begins at eight and all the ladies join up with their partners to be conveyed to the ballroom. Jane arranges her dance card on her wrist, tucks her arm through Bruce's and joins the line into the ballroom. He turns his eyes to the ceiling as they enter, the glittering lights of the vast hall.

“Incredible,” he murmurs.

“There is nothing quite like a Stark ball,” Jane says. Nothing that celebrates the moneyed classes quite so thoroughly.

He looks around the room at the couples that Pepper and Tony are hurriedly introducing to each other. “I see that,” he murmurs.

Darcy and Erik, her chaperone for the night, join her and Bruce and make polite, stilted conversation. Jane has perhaps thawed out somewhat in regards to her ire at Erik but she has not yet come to a place where she can maintain anything more than civil chitchat.

“Should we... introduce ourselves?” Bruce says, still casting his eyes around the room.

Jane shakes her head. “We have to wait for Pepper and Anthony to introduce us.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “It's how it's done.” It sounds foolish when said to another like that.

“Oh,” he mutters.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Pepper brings Lady Carter, her husband, and two young gentleman over to be introduced. She introduces the three men as Captain Steven Rogers, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, and Sergeant Samuel Wilson. They are all terribly tall and handsome. Darcy makes shameless eyes at the two young, unattached men.

“Miss Foster and Mr Banner are to be wed tomorrow afternoon,” Pepper says.

“Peggy said as much. Congratulations to you both.” Captain Rogers speaks with the unmistakable mix of Irish and American. “May I have a, request a dance from you later?” he asks, stumbling just a little on the etiquette.

She smiles. “You'll be the first, Captain. Perhaps the third waltz?”

“Be kind to me,” he says, as she pencils his name onto her card. “I'm still a novice.”

She casts a glance at Bruce. “I am very kind, Captain, ask anyone.”

Darcy scoffs and waves her fan in front of her face, making eyes at Barnes and Wilson. It's a terribly gauche effort, but works on the gentlemen and in the subsequent few minutes, dance cards are filled up with names. With coaching, even Bruce's name is etched on Peggy, Pepper, and Darcy's dance cards.

“The first dance, of course, is mine,” she says.

He tips his head. “Of course,” he says, not able to truly school the anxiety from his features.

“You'll do fine,” she murmurs.

The band begins its opening number of _The Blue Danube_ , the beginning blessedly gentle to warm Bruce up. She arranges his hands discreetly and urges him across the floor as the music picks up. Bruce keeps his head down, his eyes watching their footwork. It isn't ideal, but he's not stepping on her toes, which allows her to guide him through the motions more easily. Near them, Peggy and Steven pass by; she has a pained look on her face, he a look of intense concentration. Jane casts her eyes down and sees the Captain's feet step on top of his lady wife's a few times. Peggy cuts a glance to Jane and rolls her eyes.

Bruce's posture is stiff. Jane leans in a little more than is appropriate. “You're doing fine,” she says, and guides him across the floor away from Peggy and Captain Rogers.

Bruce laughs with irony. “I feel very uncomfortable.”

“Then you're doing just fine,” she says.

“Do I really have to dance with all those other ladies? I'm not sure that they'll be as understanding of my failings as you.”

“They'll cotton on,” she says.

“Do I need to dance in every dance?” He dips his head closer to hers as a couple passes close by. “There are a lot.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “It is quite permissible to take a seat to the side.”

“That's some comfort,” he mutters.

The dance ends a few minutes later, and she discreetly hands Bruce off to Darcy before taking up with Sergeant Barnes, who was eager to have his name on her dance card. He seems eager to dance with all the ladies, however; she isn't altogether flattered. Bruce looks as if he's set to meet his maker as he gingerly lays his hand on Darcy's waist. Jane inclines her head, then turns her attention to the sergeant's toothy grin.

Barnes is a fine dancer, if a little fast, always looking for the next opportunity. Once over, Bruce's feared quadrille is next. The four couples consist of Erik and Darcy, Jane and Sergeant Wilson, Anthony and Pepper, and Peggy and a dark-haired man. The dark-haired man stares at her for longer than is polite and she turns her face away from him. Bruce stands to the side and Jane nods to him as the music starts. Though she is only proficient at the waltz, she knows the patterns of the quadrille by heart, having spent many hours as a child practising. Her father had been her partner sometimes, Erik when she was older. It is a child's dance, really, simple, repetitive steps.

She nods to Erik on the first pass, taking his hand briefly before rejoining with Wilson. They pass a second time and he says her name softly; she turns her head and takes Wilson's hand, returns to their places, then walks the circle. It is the other couples' turn next, and she waits for them to finish the pattern. Darcy renews her efforts to make eyes at Wilson, and looks delighted when it comes time to switch partners.

“Jane,” Erik says.

“Concentrate on the dance, Erik,” she murmurs.

He grumbles and they go through another convoluted sets of patterns, switching and switching back again.

“Those were harsh words you spoke to me,” Erik says.

“Yes.” It is Anthony and Pepper, Peggy and her partner's turn, and Jane stares ahead. “I didn't... mean to be cruel.”

“You did. You always do. You have your mother's sharp tongue.”

She tips her head, glancing to the side. “And my father's awkward gait, you said.”

Erik smiles. They have only a few moments longer to speak, before they are called upon to return to the pattern. “Indeed. I am sure you know by now that I'm an old man.”

“Not so old,” she murmurs.

“And I know I'm not your father, but I do love you like one, and I only try to keep you safe, in my own silly ways. Mr Banner is the first man I've truly believed you'd marry, and that is frightening.”

It is their turn again and she readies herself to move. “Yes, it is,” she murmurs.

-

He watches Jane dance the quadrille perfectly, as though she could dance it in her sleep, then consents to two more sets before conveying Pepper to a young Scottish man who looks terribly nervous and taking a seat. Jane has taken up with a handsome man with dark hair and a razor sharp smile, a man her own age, entirely at ease. They dance beautifully, though perhaps hers step are a little mechanical in nature. He's hardly a good judge of these things. Bruce only has a few minutes respite before Anthony joins him, dropping unceremoniously down in the seat beside him. Anthony sighs expansively.

“These ladies,” he says, “they're insatiable.”

Bruce looks back out at Jane. Her new gentleman looks as if he hasn't a care in the world. None of them do.

“How often do you attend these balls?” Bruce asks.

“Every week, it seems,” Anthony says, looking off into the distance. “Oh dear.”

“'Oh dear?'” Bruce echoes.

Anthony nods across the room, to a flame-haired woman in an equally flame-coloured dress. She scans the floor with quick flicks of her eyes before Pepper hurries towards her.

“Who is she?”

“The Grand Duchess of Russia, one of the Romanovs.” Romanova finds him in the crowd and narrows her eyes. Anthony sinks lower into his seat. “We've exchanged words on occasion,” he murmurs. “Pepper has advised me that it is in my best interests to avoid her from now on.”

“I see. How often do royalty attend these balls?”

“More often than you'd think, being that they are meant to be serving their countries in some fashion. Prince Arthur, terrible lush. Victoria's darling, though.”

Bruce nods wordlessly; Anthony appears not to notice. This life here, this spectacle – for it is undoubtedly a spectacle – is entirely alien to him, to his former room at the tenement, his days scrounging money from public house floors, his childhood of beatings and deprivation. It is alien, or he is an alien to this land.

“I believe I have promised myself to your lovely intended for a waltz,” Anthony says, and stands up. “I bid you adieu.”

“Enjoy yourself,” he calls.

He has long hours to wait until dinner, which is to be served at midnight, and spends it mainly to the side on his chair. Anthony encourages him to ask for a lady's hand to dance a few times, and though they are all terribly polite, he feels a distinct coldness from the ladies he has never met before. He excuses himself to the lavatory, which earns him some pinched expressions. Belatedly he realises that he supposed to be more circumspect in describing such bodily functions.

He lingers there for as long as he can before returning to the ballroom. He slips in unnoticed and becomes entrapped behind a group of men including Jane's earlier dance partner.

“... unbelievable that she's finally found a man to marry her,” one of the men says.

“Pretty but a _terrible_ bore,” another says. “I swear she believes she knows everything on every subject that is brought up.”

“It's simply a marriage of convenience,” her dance partner says, “nothing more than that.”

“Excuse me,” Bruce says loudly, and pushes past the group. Most of them have the good manners to look chastened, but the sharp-smiled man is unmoved by shame and simply steps to the side an inch. Were Bruce in a Chicago public house, he would make something of this, but here he's not sure how to approach such insults and doesn't want to bring shame on Jane and Virginia.

It is a relief when dinner is finally served. Bruce escorts Jane to their seats at one end of the grand table that seats the seventy or so guests of the ball, and finds himself sitting beside Mrs Rogers. Beyond her is Anthony. The Captain is on the other side of the table, further down, between Darcy and a dark-haired woman. Darcy has Sergeant Barnes to her right and seems quite pleased at the arrangement. At one end of the table sits Virginia with the Duchess. To Jane's right she has her dance partner who expressed such displeasure at her character. Bruce stares at him for a moment but he seems quite unconcerned at Bruce's gaze.

They begin with soup, which Bruce tries very hard to eat silently. The murmur of conversation fills the room, and it's the masculine responsibility, apparently, to set the topic. The man to Jane's right, who she introduces to Bruce as 'Mr Ward of the Massachusetts Wards' with a sarcastic lilt to her voice, makes conversation with her without revealing a hint of his earlier distaste.

Bruce turns to Mrs Rogers and clears his throat. “So, where are you-- do you... hail from?”

Mrs Rogers smiles, sympathetic to his difficulty. “Steven and I currently reside in Flatbush, but we keep a home in Kensington as well. I grew up in Hertfordshire. And yourself?”

“Ohio,” he says, “but I was living in Chicago before... now.”

“I hear Ohio is lovely,” she says, and flashes him a smile that says she knows better.

“Yes, lovely,” he agrees. “Did you come to Manhattan for the ball?”

“Unfortunately no,” she says, “we came to the city to help with the rescue efforts. Steven has been out on the water all day with Anthony. The damage in Brooklyn was terrible, the flooding in the ground floor of our house reached halfway up the wall and we were by far the least affected. So many of the houses in the area were blown down entirely.”

“Those houses were poorly built,” Ward says. “A strong breeze would have blown them down.”

Jane looks at Ward for a long moment. “Perhaps that's all they could afford.”

“The poor wretches,” he says. “Perhaps if they worked harder...”

Steven sits up straighter, his face taking on a hard edge, the corners of his mouth pulled down. Bruce feels his previous ire at Ward's comments about Jane rear up.

“As hard as you work, Mr Ward?” she asks blandly. “I forget, what is it that you do?”

“I work in politics, you wouldn't understand.”

“I am sure that I wouldn't,” she says with a smile and a tip of her head. “But even I know that labour rights are quite the issue of the day. Those poor wretches seem to believe that they deserve more than pennies for working twenty hours per day. It is certainly easy for those of us who live off the family silver to feel as though we've come upon the secret to wealth and happiness. But of course, I don't understand politics.”

Jane's words have brought a hush over the table; Steven is smiling slightly, Mrs Rogers seems pleased without ever moving a muscle, and colour is bleeding into bright two spots on Mr Ward's cheeks. Anthony brings the discussion to a close with a short clearing of his throat.

“We'll be having sole for the second course,” he says.

Bruce lays his hands gently over Jane's where they're concealed under the table. Her face softens somewhat but her demeanour remains distant and tense. Mr Ward remains quiet for the rest of the dinner, only occasionally casting a sullen glare in Jane's direction. Bruce feels a not insignificant amount of pleasure from that.

The dancing resumes at two am, but Jane excuses herself as fatigued. There is a brief discussion about who is to escort her to her room before she sighs in disgust and walks out alone. With Jane gone, Bruce sees no reason to remain, and excuses himself also. Anthony expects the dancing to continue until the sun rises. Bruce isn't sure that even the lushes in Chicago revel for so long.

He almost expects to find Jane in his room when he arrives, but it is empty and he elects to simply go to bed and be rested for the coming day.

-

He is surprised to find the next morning that he's slept as deeply as an infant, and feels only a calmness about the day ahead. Outside rain is coming down in sheets, but it does nothing to sour his mood. He leaves his room to breakfast but is hurried back in as soon as Anthony catches sight of him.

“We must begin getting you ready!” he says, catching Bruce by the arm. His eyes are bright and his hair is tousled to a greater degree than normal.

“Have you slept?”

“Goodness no!” he says. “I can never sleep before a wedding. I didn't sleep for a week before my own!”

Bruce can believe that of Anthony and allows himself to prodded into his room and stripped down to his drawers. Jarvis brings his breakfast to him and he eats it quickly while Jarvis lays out his wedding clothes. They redress him in black trousers, a white shirt, an ivory waistcoat, and a black coat. He is finished off with a top hat. Anthony turns him to the mirror and asks him what he thinks.

He thinks he looks nothing like the thief who met Anthony three and a half months ago.

“Have you seen Jane?”

“I have it on good authority that she is being primped and polished as we speak.”

Bruce is not sure Jane will appreciate being 'primped' and the thought makes him smile.

“Who is coming to this wedding?” he asks. This is the first time he's though on it, the guests to his own wedding. “Not... everyone at the ball, I hope.”

“Not Mr Ward, if that's what you're trying to ask. He departed not long after you and Jane, back to his parents' warm hearth and home. He's a ne'er-do-well, nothing more. And believe me, I know my ne'er-do-wells. It'll be an intimate affair.”

“That's a comfort. What are we going to do until it's time?” The wedding begins at two in the afternoon on the dot, and it's just past eleven.

Anthony frowns for a moment. “Cards?”

-

Anthony introduces him to the German game of Skat, which Bruce has never heard nor indeed cannot follow the rules of. Jarvis, on the other hand, is quite skilled at it and they both thoroughly trounce him. They play for items around Bruce's room, all of which are Anthony's, so it hardly matters.

Jarvis must have a preternatural ability to keep time, because he sits back abruptly in the middle of their game and announces, “it's a quarter to two,” without even consulting a clock.

Anthony pulls a pocket watch from inside his jacket. “So it is. Come along, we can't be late.”

They lead Bruce through the mansion, passing cheerful maids in the halls. The place is full of noise, chatter and music, and his smile only grows as they near the great hall that last night held most of New York's upper crust and this afternoon will bear witness to his marriage.

“Nervous?” Anthony asks.

“No,” Bruce says with an ease that he has rarely felt before. Anthony smiles.

The clip clop of hard-soled shoes herald the arrival of Darcy, dashing to catch up to them. “Mr Banner, Mr Banner!” she says. She's a wearing a beautiful dress of deep blue and a look of anxiety. “Has Jane been to visit you?”

He frowns. “No, I haven't seen her today.”

“There's no need to be coy...” she says.

Anthony glances at him with a look of amusement. “I'm not being coy, Miss Lewis,” Bruce says.

“He tells the truth,” Anthony says. “We've been playing cards since the morning.”

Darcy's face tenses. “Then I'm afraid to say that I've failed in my duties as the maid of honour, and have lost the bride.”

“'Lost' her?” Bruce repeats.

She clears her throat. “After dressing her, I left the room to... attend to some business and when I returned, Jane had gone, without word or note.”

Bruce feels his stomach turn unhappy. Thankfully Anthony was only able to bring him a small breakfast this morning. “Was she... unhappy today?”

The quick flicker of Darcy's eyes tell Bruce all he need know before she even speaks. “She seemed... distant, but I attributed it to nerves.”

“I see. Where have you looked?”

“All of her favourite places. The library, the kitchen, the drawing rooms. I enlisted the help of... Sergeant Wilson, but we've found no trace of her.”

Bruce looks to the window; the rain is near horizontal now, the sky dark and foreboding. He removes his top hat and hands it to Anthony. “I'll be back shortly.”

“You'll be _back_? Where are you _going_?”

Bruce waves away his anxious look and moves to the nearest door that opens to the outside. The rain is a brutal assault that infiltrates through his layers of clothing with ease and the grass is thick and boggy beneath his shoes. He persists into the grounds, remembering Jane's wonder at the maelstrom in the sky on the morning of the hurricane; it was the purest, most honest form, for all her sharp words and tough exterior. The sounds of thunder lulled her to sleep, no fear seeping into her bones like it did his until he took to her bed.

If she is nowhere to be found in the house, he's sure she's in the gardens. The third option, that she went out into the rain, hailed a hansom cab, and left is one he'd prefer not to think on.

He looks about the grounds, wishing he'd brought his spectacles, no matter how unpleasant he finds wearing them; perhaps he'd be able to see through the rainy haze more easily.

It's on his third pass over the grounds that he sees something white among the ruins of the Jarvis's cottage.

“Jane?” he calls. The white figure moves but doesn't reply.

He makes his laborious way to the cottage, the sinking of his shoes into the mud creating suction when he lifts his feet. 

It is indeed Jane sitting on a pile of wood. She had the presence of mind to bring an umbrella, but it appears the rain was too strong for it, because it now sits to her left and her previously pinned and styled hair is hanging down in wet clumps, pressed close to her neck.

“Jane?” he repeats.

She looks up at him and clears her throat. “Would you like my umbrella?” She picks it up and offers it to him; it is indeed broken, a few of the spokes bent. “It may of of some use.”

He shakes his head. “Darcy said you left without a word.”

She nods.

“Do you... Your dress is ruined.”

“Yes,” she says, and looks away.

“Do you not want to marry me any more?”

She looks back at him. “Did you enjoy the ball last night?”

His stomach remains unsettled. “It was a new experience.”

“It was not new for me,” she says. “It was so ordinary to me, to hear veiled barbs, to feel the weight of scorn and superiority, to be among people who feel so pleased at the thought that less fortunate people have lost their homes. That has been my life, my whole life.”

“I believe Anthony has ejected Mr Ward from the house.”

“It's not only that!” she says, her voice raising. She stands up, her ruined dress hanging drably around her. “It was everyone there, living in a world of their own, just as I've lived in a world of my own for so long. I spent that damned dinner last night sick to my stomach and when Darcy fussed over me today I realised that I can't marry simply to maintain my status, I would not be able to live with myself.”

“Simply to maintain your status?” he repeats. “Is that...”

“I'm sorry,” she says, “I know that this arrangement was to be beneficial to you as well, and perhaps you were in greater need than I and I really do apologise for taking away such an opportunity for you, but I find that I can't marry for any reason other than love, and to be loved in return.”

He steps closer to her. “I feel the same way...”

She gaze dances away from him for a moment. “And I find...” she says softly. “I find that I do love you.”

“I find that too,” he says, and rests his hand upon her cheek.

“You aren't marrying me for my money?” she says, her eyes serious but her mouth's corner quirking ever so slightly.

“You don't have any money,” he says.

“How could I forget...” she murmurs, her gaze lingering on his mouth. He closes the short gap and gathers the wet, slippery material of her dress between his fingers at her waist. Underneath, her body is soft, free of corsetry. The kiss is quite amorous until the water dripping down their faces becomes too much of a distraction.

“You aren't wearing a corset,” he murmurs.

She smiles up at him. “Occasionally I listen.”

He presses his wet forehead to hers. “Why did you come out here?”

She shrugs. “I like the rain, and I wanted to feel... dramatic, I suppose.”

“I suppose you quite enjoyed _Wuthering Heights_ then.” He the orphan and she the wealthy daughter.

“Oh no,” she says, taking hold of the lapels of his jacket, smiling up at him with that infuriatingly knowing smile, “I find those stories of fraught romances to be quite miserable. I am sure we can be quite a bit happier than that.”

**Author's Note:**

> The historical events referred within the fic are:  
> [The World's Columbian Exposition held in Chicago, 1893](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World's_Columbian_Exposition)  
> [The 1893 New York Hurricane](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1893_New_York_hurricane) and subsequent [Sea Islands Hurricane](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1893_Sea_Islands_hurricane)
> 
> And some Victorian porn if you're nasty:  
> [The Romance of Lust](https://archive.org/stream/theromanceoflust30254gut/30254-8.txt)  
> [Autobiography of a Flea](https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Autobiography_of_a_Flea/Chapter_1)


End file.
